See Me In Faded Memories
by kayura sanada
Summary: Part III. Sequel to Hear Me In Silent heartbeats. Merlin is hurt, and it's up to Arthur to save him. If he even still wants to. Sequel up.


Disclaimer: No, BBC Merlin is not mine. Because if it were, this would be canon.

Note: No, I do not hate Mpreg per se. But for this story, how it's being worked, yeah, I do. If that makes sense. i.e. Not gonna happen in this fic.

* * *

See Me In Faded Memories

* * *

When he turned from unbolting the door, Merlin was on the floor.

He left the door and raced back across the room. When he fell by Merlin's side, the first thing he noticed, the first thing that caught him, was that Merlin was not breathing. An unprincely noise trembled through his lips. "Merlin? Merlin!"

Merlin was limp as Arthur lifted his head. There was no grimace, no fluttering of eyelashes. When Arthur pressed a palm to his chest, there was no movement, no susurration of lips. He couldn't even feel Merlin's heart beat.

He snatched Merlin from the floor. Nothing. Merlin's head lolled on his arm. He thought maybe his heart might beat right out of his chest.

It took mere minutes to reach Gaius, but by then he knew it had to be too late. Only after he banged the door open did he even remember that Gaius had still been speaking with his father when he'd been dismissed, but Gaius was there at the table, books stacked before him, as Arthur raced inside. He took one look up before shooting to his feet. "Sire!"

"Gaius, I don't know what happened. He just collapsed. His arm was bothering him..." Gaius was already moving, swiping the table clean of books and gesturing for Arthur to lie Merlin down. He did, even though everything in him screamed to keep the man close. "He's not breathing. I couldn't feel his heart beat. He's dead." The words choked out of him. His hands fell like weights to his sides. It couldn't be happening. Not after everything Merlin had said to him. Not _now_.

Gaius took Merlin's neckerchief off, turning him instantly more vulnerable than Arthur cared to see, and pressed two fingers to his neck. He sucked in a breath. His fingers trembled. "You're right. There's no pulse."

The words crashed. Arthur's world tilted. He shook his head. "That can't be. We were... we were just talking. He..." Dead? Arthur looked down on that face, slack, almost peaceful. No. He touched that still-warm cheek, the bone forcing his hand to cup perfectly. "You can't be dead," he said. His voice didn't waver. It didn't. "You can't. I don't want your life to be given for me. I want it to stay with me. Please." Nothing. Silence. Unbroken, still, horrible silence. He realized it would never be broken again and heard another noise, far less princely than the last, escape him. His fingers clutched at Merlin's hair. He fell to his knees on the bench. "You can't. Merlin, you can't."

He heard Gaius moving around, heard the man pick something up – cloth. He was going to cover Merlin's body, and they would send him away, and he would be gone, and no one in his kingdom would mourn him because he was a sorcerer, and no one would understand why their prince grieved. No one would know that Arthur had shared his bed with this manservant – no one would care if they did, except to whisper about two men being together. But it would prevent pregnancy, and the people would nod their heads and applaud his frugality, and no one would know it had had to be Merlin, that it couldn't have been anyone else.

Merlin lived his life in the shadows, stood behind Arthur in all things, and so no one but Arthur would notice when he was gone.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Just that day, Merlin had put his life on the line for Arthur. Just like the day his father had learned of Merlin's magic, Merlin had protected him, and no one would know. No one would remember him. No one would remember this day.

"Merlin."

He told himself to let go. This wasn't the first time he'd lost a man to battle. A good man. This wasn't even the first time he'd argued with someone just before their death. He just had to step away.

He touched his forehead to Merlin's and cupped that still face with his hands. The warmth made him frown. Merlin's body was burning up.

He pulled back and held out a hand to stop whatever Gaius was doing. "Something's wrong."

Gaius looked from Merlin to him and back. The blanket in his hands fell to the floor. Gaius rushed once more to Merlin's side. With two fingers, he checked once more for a pulse; the energy in him faded a bit as he must have once again found nothing. "What is it, sire?" he asked, tilting his head to glace at him.

He waved a hand toward Merlin. "He'd hot. Not warm, not like a recently..." His voice petered out. "Not warm, but _hot_. Like he's burning."

"Is it the curse?" Gaius whispered, moving his hands from Merlin's neck to his chest, then to his arm. It no longer trembled like it had in his room. Nothing did. With a frown, Gaius started taking off Merlin's jacket. Arthur quickly moved to hold Merlin up. The warmth hadn't waned; if anything, holding the thin frame by his underarms made the heat sing up Arthur's arms. It was unnatural.

Gaius gasped as he pulled Merlin's arms free of the coarse fabric of the sleeves. Arthur looked down and tensed. Small black lines led up from Merlin's upper wrist, past his wrist, growing slightly darker as they traveled up his arm. Gaius took off Merlin's shirt, as well, and the lines showed to continue across his shoulder and over across his chest, ending abruptly near his nipple. Arthur reached out.

"No, sire! Don't touch it."

Arthur snapped his hand back, his eyes going wide. "What is it?" It looked like the branches of a tree. It looked like poison.

"I should have known," Gaius mumbled, twisting Merlin's arm back and forth by his wrist, clear of any marks. The lines trailed up both the front and back, along his elbow and its more vulnerable inner seam, all the way up. His arm looked like it had severe gangrene. It made Arthur sick. It was not a sight that belonged on Merlin. "He was using his magic at the time. Even a curse would have a hard time fighting Merlin's magic."

Arthur wrinkled his nose, not sure where to take that. "You say it like Merlin's good at it."

"He is, sire,"Gaius said, placing Merlin's arm back down and gesturing for Arthur to lift Merlin so he could get a look at his back. "Some say he's the most powerful sorcerer to ever exist."

The thought made Arthur snort. He shook his head. "Merlin?"

"Yes, sire." The man was actually being serious. Arthur frowned as Gaius gingerly touched the back of Merlin's neck and twisted the body a bit to see the lines that trailed up along the blade of his shoulder.

Arthur frowned. "You've known about Merlin's..." His mouth twisted at the word despite his effort to just spit it out, "_magic_ for a while now, haven't you?"

Gaius spared Arthur a glance before returning to his ministrations. "I have. The boy saved my life shortly after arriving here in Camelot."

Despite himself, Arthur found his hands clench on Merlin's waist. Saving people seemed to be a habit for him. Arthur felt something in his gut twist as he realized Merlin might have been telling him the truth all those times he'd said he'd saved Arthur's life. Merlin had continually said that his magic was for Arthur. To protect him. Arthur hissed in a sharp breath. "And he's saved me."

"More times than you'll ever know, sire."

Arthur had to close his eyes then, because Merlin had done such things for him and Arthur had repaid him with hate. His felt guilt take a giant chunk out of his ass and wondered if he could still call himself honorable. Even if he'd had words with one of his men before they'd died, he'd never doubted their loyalty to him.

"Careful, sire," Gaius said, and he realized Merlin's bad arm had nearly touched him. Gaius moved it gently away.

"Do you think it's contagious?" he asked.

"No, but it's better to be sure." Gaius finally made another aborted movement with his fingers, and then he traced Merlin's neck once more. "Still hot," he said. "If anything, the boy's gotten hotter." Gaius' brow lifted. "Can it be..." And he wandered over to his bookshelves.

"What? What is it?" he asked, hardly daring to let himself hope. Even though Gaius seemed done with his inspection, still Arthur held Merlin close, his fingers lying idly on that too-warm skin. The heat pressed through his clothes, and Arthur lowered his head, finally resting his nose in the dark curls on the top of Merlin's crown. The heat was intense now, as if Merlin had a fever. He dared let himself hope.

Gaius pulled down a few books, and Arthur was certain they were not medical. The rush of fury took his by surprise. He'd trusted Gaius, as well, and both he and Merlin – _Merlin_, of all people – had kept such secrets from him. But he'd already lashed out for that, and he was paying the price for it now. He forced the anger to settle back down in his gut. With both hands he hugged Merlin to his chest, ignoring the heat that made perspiration break out over his skin. When he breathed in, he could still smell Merlin's soap in his hair. Better, there was no scent of death. More hope blossomed.

"Here it is," Gaius said, and Arthur snapped his attention back to the physician. "Incredible," the old man murmured. If Arthur hadn't been holding Merlin, he'd have reached out and strangled the man's neck. He made an impatient sound, and Gaius cleared his throat. My apologies, sire. It seems Merlin has placed himself in a state of suspended animation."

"He what?" Merlin's body was painfully lax against him. He stopped himself from touching Merlin's chest, not in fear of touching the lines, but in dread of feeling that unnatural stillness again.

"He's placed himself outside of time, sire." And the physician's voice was regaining that spark of life. "In a bubble, one could say." At Arthur's blank stare, Gaius amended with, "he has stopped time for himself, sire. He is no longer touched by it. You mentioned no spell, so I believe it to be a sort of self-preservation. The curse was killing him, and so he stopped himself from aging. The curse will not spread so long as he remains encased."

It sounded impossible. Yet Arthur clung to it anyway, because the alternative was unthinkable. "Then he's alive?"

"Yes, sire. Or at least, he will be. His magic is most likely set to release him once he's been healed."

Purpose. Arthur leaped upon it with abandon. "Then there's still a chance." He looked down at Merlin, that pale face slack. Those lips were pulled down, into the frown Arthur had seen more than enough of the past few weeks. "Is it safe to move him?"

Gaius frowned. "I would say so. For all intents and purposes, he is as a corpse. He will remain that way indefinitely, I suppose, if his wound isn't healed." The old man rested the book he'd been reading on the table. That eyebrow of his was wandering up toward his hairline. "And what are you planning to do?"

"I'm going to take him to be purified. It's what he needs, right?" Gaius nodded slowly, as if he expected there to be a catch. "Where's the closest place?"

Gaius hummed for a moment. "I suppose that would be the shrine of Abzul in the southern forest, about a couple of days from Nemeth. It's near the river, but in a cave. Hidden."

Arthur refused to think of how Gaius knew that or why he hadn't told Uther. It served his purpose, and perhaps this was exactly why Gaius had never said anything. If this was how one saved a person from magic, then Arthur regretted only that there were fewer places left. It reminded him of what Merlin had said – that not many places that could heal him remained. Somehow, the thought strengthened his resolve. He nodded to Merlin. "We can't leave him here, Gaius. If my father gets wind of this, he'll have Merlin burned alive." Gaius winced slightly at that, but he didn't argue. Arthur scooted out from behind Merlin, actually aching for the loss of contact even as the sweat on his body cooled in the air. "I'll have to take him with me."

"With you, sire?" But Gaius' voice said he'd already figured out where Arthur was headed. Was he just fishing for information, or was he trying to make Arthur say it? Say that he was going to save Merlin despite how he'd treated him recently. Say why.

"Yes," Arthur answered, cutting the questioning short. "Get him as ready to go as you can, Gaius. Hide him in his room, on his bed, if anyone asks questions. We'll be riding off as soon as possible."

Gaius did as told, and Arthur noticed the man no longer avoided the black lines on Merlin's body, but instead touched them gently, as if it might hurt Merlin to do more, before tracing the edge of them on the boy's chest. He finally grabbed the cloth again, and Arthur looked away before the image of Merlin wrapped in death could be embedded in his brain. "What about the king?" Gaius asked. Arthur heard the rustle of cloth behind him and made quickly for the door.

"Let me deal with him," Arthur said, and hurried away.

* * *

"I'll need to look through the neighboring towns to be sure," Arthur said, standing at attention before his father and the retinue of his court, hands clasped tight behind his back. "We should be certain there are no other sorcerers lurking in our kingdom, especially close enough to strike."

Uther's eyes narrowed on his son. Arthur stood stone-faced, impassive. He knew Uther was taking his words with a grain of salt; anything to do with magic had become a hot topic the moment Arthur had learned. But as far as either of them knew, no one else in court knew of Merlin's secret. Uther didn't want Arthur's legitimacy as heir ruined, and Arthur didn't want Merlin picketed and attacked. It was a forced standstill, one Arthur took use of now.

Uther's hands clenched slightly around the arms rests of his throne. Finally he leaned to the side and rubbed one finger over his top lip. "You wish to search for more?"

"Yes, father. I believe there may be others nearby. If those two blacksmiths could get so close, we must take another look around. Just to be certain."

A few murmurs went up in the crowd, and Uther's gaze flickered in their direction before he lifted his chin and stared Arthur down. "You will take a retinue of knights."

"No, sire." Uther's eyebrows shot up. "This should be done in secrecy. Catching Liam and Forrest would have made the rest edgy. Any show of force could send any other sorcerers into hiding."

Arthur kept his face carefully blank, knowing Uther had no reason to call him out save to bring up Merlin, which wouldn't happen. Arthur knew it wouldn't, because Uther would never admit to allowing a sorcerer in his castle. "You go alone, then."

Arthur nodded sharply. Yes. Just myself and my manservant." Uther's eyes narrowed further at that. "We can blend in more readily with the people, and we'll move faster."

"That boy is not conducive to quick or ready results," Uther said, and Arthur nearly twitched. Nearly gave something in himself away. He was actually a bit surprised by Uther's willingness to bring Merlin up at all.

"Merlin may have flaws as a manservant, father, but I couldn't ask for a more loyal man by my side."

It was like throwing a gauntlet; Uther's lips pulled back slightly, but Arthur lifted his chin and they were trapped in a face-off. It only lasted a few moments before Uther, hands clenched on the armrests until the knuckles were white, finally gritted out, "very well."

Arthur bowed and left. He didn't care what his father said to him upon his return, didn't care what his father tried to do to him. So long as he could protect Merlin this time around, nothing else mattered. It was a matter of honor. And more.

He raced to his room to grab a few supplies and hurried back to Gaius. The old man stood by the bench, packing what looked to be bread in a large knapsack. He looked up at Arthur's entrance. "I've taken care of some provisions," the old physician said, "but I haven't had time for more than a few bits of food and a couple of blankets." And he gestured to two thin rolls.

Arthur nodded. "It'll have to be enough. We need to leave before someone finds out about Merlin's condition. It's going to seem odd enough that we take only one horse, but the need to look like common folk will have to suffice as reason enough." Gaius' eyebrow quirked at that, but he wisely said nothing.

Arthur looked around, then up toward the stairs. The door to Merlin's room was closed. Arthur could only assume he was up there, still trapped in that unnatural state. His blood pounded in his veins, urged him to hurry. He held out his hand for the knapsack. Wordlessly, Gaius handed it over. "I'll get the horse set up," Arthur said. Do you think you can have him ready for me when I return?"

Gaius lifted that brow again. It was amazing how much the old man could say with just that one movement. "You mean make it seem as if he's a willing participant in the move? I'm not sure I can do that."

But Arthur was already shaking his head. "No. I need you to get him dressed, if he's not, and get him down through the town."

Arthur hadn't thought that eyebrow could go any higher, but apparently it could. "And how do you propose I do this, sire?"

Arthur wasn't at all pleased with his own idea, but it couldn't be helped. "Do you think you could get away with carrying him out like the blacksmith?"

Gaius made a small noise. "You know, I might. The body is to be taken out and burned. It would not be unusual for me to take the body myself. And stopping to speak with the departing prince would be perfectly understandable."

Arthur nodded. "I'll meet you there, then." He clapped a hand on the old man's shoulder. "Be careful, Gaius. Do everything you can to avoid my father."

Gaius nodded. "Thank you, sire."

The words didn't seem to fit in the situation, and it made Arthur pause on his way out the door. He considered questioning Gaius on it, but instead he let it go. He had a feeling he knew why Gaius was thanking him, and if he was right, then he didn't deserve it. Because the gratitude meant it was no longer expected for him to do right by Merlin.

Arthur's hand clenched tight around the knob of the door. He closed the door softly as he left.

* * *

It was oddly simple, taking Merlin's body from the cart Gaius rolled to the edge of town and getting upon the horse with Merlin in front of him, a horribly limp figure with a blanket over his head. He even found himself calling for a guard to take the cart from Gaius as he struggled to lift the thing again. The guard didn't even look at Merlin, just rushed to do as told.

So of course he'd only started his horse forward before being interrupted. He looked down to find Gwen hurrying forward, a water bucket dropped and forgotten behind her. "Sire!" He stopped the horse entirely, even as something itched in him to move. For Gwen, he could wait.

But when she got to his side, her eyes strayed immediately to Merlin, and she gasped, and he quickly held up his hand. "What is it, Gwen?"

Her eyes went back and forth between them, and her dark skin got paler and paler as he watched. "What happened?" she asked, even as he willed her not to, and he sighed. There were too many people milling around for him to be willing to answer. Yet it only took one stretch of his lips for her to realize the same, and she held up her hands. "My apologies, my lord."

He winced at the title. He knew very well Gwen and Merlin were friends; it was through him that he'd started paying attention to her. So of course she would be concerned, seeing Merlin sitting limply in front of Arthur, head low, silent – anyone who knew him would immediately know something was wrong. But he didn't know how to make her understand anything that had happened without giving the information away to those more loyal to his father than to him.

But Gwen was already moving toward the stables. "One moment, sire."

His brows furrowed as he watched. One moment? But then he understood, and a strangled sound issued from his throat. "Guinevere, you can't be serious."

She didn't even pause, and he was left with the unsettling position of taking a woman with him on a potentially-dangerous quest or rudely leaving her in the stables. He was still trying to decide which was less honorable when she came out, Merlin's horse in tow. He nearly yelled at her; the impulse left him stunned and silent as she slipped quickly into the saddle, sitting sideways due to her dress and nearly falling off. "Let's go," she said, quite serious, and clicked her tongue. Unlike Merlin, she'd clearly ridden before. Somehow she even kept her balance as the horse moved.

"Guinevere," he said, his voice dropping low, the way it usually only did when his men were trying to disobey his orders. But though Gwen's bottom lip quivered, she lifted her chin and held her ground.

"I heard about what happened at the forge," she said. It was so different from where he'd expected the conversation to go that he was momentarily stunned. "I saw him. There." And her voice dipped horribly low, yet somehow he heard her, and his heart chilled. "At the forge. He said he was on an errand, and I was – I was upset, because it was the forge that had replaced my father, and I walked away. And now Merlin's hurt, isn't he? Because of those sorcerers."

The words echoed at something deep within him. Because Merlin had gone to him for help, and he had shooed him away. And yet still Merlin had gone, alone, to that smithy and taken on two sorcerers for him, in the middle of town and in the middle of the day despite the danger, and all the while he'd thought Arthur had been saying good-bye.

"The fault is mine," Arthur said, before Gwen could try to take the blame. "It's my job to protect my people, and I failed."

Gwen said nothing, but Arthur could feel her attention as he moved his horse once more into motion, and Gwen stayed behind him even though he wanted to tell her to leave. He wondered if Merlin's stubbornness was contagious, because he couldn't remember Gwen ever doing something like this before he'd shown up.

"Gwen, this could be dangerous." When wasn't it? And he, a known hater of all things magic, was going to a site of pure magic to try to heal his dying manservant, his hidden lover-slash-hidden sorcerer guardian. What were the chances no one would notice, pitch a fit? Druids most likely guarded the place. They would not take kindly to Arthur charging through.

"I can help," was all she said, and Arthur didn't know how to continue arguing without insulting her. So he found himself wondering just how in hell he was going to make it all work.

They received a few odd stares, two men on one horse and a woman attempting to ride a normal saddle like it was a sidesaddle, but there wasn't much to be done for it. He also realized their rations, hurriedly put together as they already were, wouldn't get them half the way he'd been thinking they would. He would have to go hunting. At least he'd thought to grab his crossbow before going to Gaius. He'd thought to use it for a few rabbits, anyway, and had hoped he wouldn't need to wield it against any druids. At least the crossbow would catch himself and Gwen a meal or two.

Within mere minutes, sweat was beading up on his skin again. Merlin was like a small fire, the fever of his skin eating through Arthur's clothes. It wasn't long after Camelot was hidden by the trees on the edge of the forest that he found himself tense against the heat.

A few more minutes, and the forest had already turned the sky into a dim dusting of light through dense branches of foliage, and the scent of the earth was just invading his nose when Gwen spoke up again. "He's injured, isn't he? How bad is it?"

Arthur sucked in a deep, slow breath. Despite the heat, suddenly he had to squeeze Merlin a bit closer. The lack of response, the way Merlin's head bumped brokenly against his chest, made his gut clench. "It's bad," he said finally. He didn't know how to say it, how to explain. It wouldn't take longer than the night for her to realize that Merlin's not moving included not breathing. How to explain that he wasn't actually carrying a corpse? And then he wondered if Gwen knew, if Merlin had told her or if she had found out, about his magic. He cleared his throat, swallowing back the bitter taste on his tongue. "He was cursed."

Her gasp was quiet, like she'd guessed but hadn't wanted to believe. He shot her a glance and saw her eyes on Merlin, covered still by the blanket, head tucked securely under Arthur's as Arthur held him up in the saddle. "How bad?" she asked again, her voice much quieter this time. He didn't want to answer.

"He's... trapped in time." He hedged, and he felt awful about it. He couldn't even tell why. It wasn't as if the worst person to know hadn't been the first – well, he thought, considering Gaius, second – to know. And it wasn't because he thought the secret Merlin's to tell, because he thought Merlin should have told _him_. He didn't know what it was, but saying Merlin was cursed and had stopped time _to save himself_ made Arthur feel like more of a failure, that when Merlin had needed him he'd been arguing with him one last time – Merlin had been _dying_ and Arthur had been picking yet another damn fight, and Merlin had needed to resort to creating a shell of death around himself to protect his own life because Arthur had failed to even realize anything so horrible had happened–

No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. It brought too much shame.

Gwen was silent as Arthur drowned himself, but when he came up for air, she started again. "What does that mean, exactly?"

It was a good question. Arthur hadn't quite understood it himself. But he knew what it boiled down to. "It means that until I can get him healed, he's as good as dead."

Another sharp breath, and he thought maybe he could have delivered that better. But Gwen just plowed on. "But he's not yet, right? We still have time."

"Yes." According to Gaius, they had all the time in the world. Arthur could die of old age and Merlin could still be in this state, this burning, limp, corpse-like state. The very thought was hideous.

Gwen nodded. "All right, then. We'll heal him and get him back."

She said it with such assurance, Arthur could almost believe it. The sunlight dappled across her face and hair, and Arthur was struck by just how beautiful she was. He thought he could almost hear the shimmer of the light as it bounced off her hair, turning the black curls into something like stardust. She would make a beautiful queen.

The thought jarred him a bit, and he nearly reined his horse in. Gwen continued forward, shooting him a short look to him. He merely waved her forward, thinking that he would have the opportunity to watch for any attack that might come for her. He may not be able to see anything straight ahead, but she would warn him of anything in that direction. It was the places people didn't usually look that he needed to watch himself.

Almost unconsciously, his arms wrapped Merlin a bit tighter to him.

Arthur stopped them much sooner than he normally would have. He laid Merlin carefully on the ground, the blanket he'd been wrapped around now softening the earth beneath his limp body, and swept one hand across his forehead. Despite the heat radiating off of him, there was no sweat to be found. It was unnatural. His heart rate doubled just looking at him. He was as still as that morning. Arthur stepped away, his body nearly tearing apart as he did, and helped Gwen down from her own horse before setting to getting the food from the knapsack. The two animals grazed quietly as Gwen stretched her back and messed with her skirts. Though he didn't see any noticeable difference between the frumples before and after, but Gwen seemed happy with it, so he figured there had been some sort of alteration.

Their food wasn't much more than bread and cheese, with one lone piece of fruit that looked questionable. Arthur took it out and flipped it back and forth. It looked familiar. He thought of a time when Merlin had switched out his food with such things and snarled. Then he paused, right there by the horse, listening to Gwen in the background, moving around in the grass, most likely searching for somewhere to sit, and wondered if maybe that had been another time when he'd been in trouble. Had his food been poisoned? Magicked away? He turned back to find Gwen beside Merlin on the blanket. She was touching his forehead, a small frown on her face. She moved to lift him and take off his jacket, and Arthur rushed forward. "Don't."

But she had already pulled down one sleeve – _the_ one sleeve, of course, and her gasp this time was much louder. She paled so much he feared she might faint. "What..." But she didn't seem to have the breath to force the question out. She just kept staring at those horrible black lines. It looked like his whole arm was rotten. Arthur found himself trapped by the sight, as well, and quickly looked away. Gwen finally put the jacket back on as he came to hand her some of the bread and cheese, not knowing if he should offer the fruit or not. She stared at even the simple rations as if she couldn't imagine ingesting it. At the moment, he felt the same.

He sat down beside her, sword on his lap, just in case, and bit into the fruit. Despite its odd shape, it tasted good enough, juicy, if crunchier than he was used to. Gwen watched him as he chewed. He swallowed and nodded to the food. "We can't afford to lose our strength right now," he said. Her eyes trailed right back to Merlin, and she took a giant bite from the chunk of bread a moment later. Her cheeks pillowed like a squirrel's, and he thought he saw tears spark in her eyes. He imagined they were only for the difficulty of chewing so much with her mouth closed and looked away. He had no idea how to handle a woman's tears, and right then, he didn't know if he was in any shape to offer comfort.

They both watched over Merlin, Gwen by soaking her small handkerchief and dabbing it on Merlin's forehead and neck, even though he showed no signs of being harmed by the heat himself, and Arthur by watching every branch as it shifted in the wind, listened to every small creak and crack of underbrush.

He didn't have to tell Gwen they needed to get moving. As soon as she finished eating, she stood and went back toward her horse. He was about to ask her about her dress when she shifted them a bit, swung up into the saddle, and spread her legs on each side. The skirt lifted up to her knees, and she sat awkwardly. He took one good at those bronzed calves and quickly looked away.

He'd told Merlin once that he thought of her all the time. It was amazing to see that the feeling hadn't diminished. He could even see her beauty, clear as day, almost ethereal here in the forest. Yet he couldn't hurry faster to Merlin's side, couldn't help cradling the man to him. Couldn't help the heedless panic that kept singing through his veins whenever he dared consider Merlin never waking up, the quest failing, the shrine not being enough. He'd once tried to think of himself as in love with Gwen, had imagined her by his side, wearing a crown. He hadn't thought that way since he'd dragged Merlin's lips to his those few months ago, and wondered why the thoughts had returned. Feared, suddenly, a weakness in his loyalty. Feared he no longer gave his love to Merlin. And just for a second – a horrible, wrenching second, he wondered if Merlin had indeed enchanted him.

Then he thought of Merlin letting Uther bury him alive, of telling Arthur he was leaving, and hated himself for thinking such thoughts. When he pulled both himself and Merlin back into the saddle, he leaned down and whispered a short apology in Merlin's hair before wrapping him once more in the blanket.

It wasn't just as a prince that he had failed Merlin. It was as a lover, and most certainly as a friend.

Merlin shouldn't lose his life for someone as dishonorable as him.

* * *

Night came quicker than Arthur would have liked. They were too far from a village, and going to one would have set them back a few hours. When he'd mentioned it to Gwen, she'd waved it off and said, "don't worry about me, Arthur. I'm far more concerned about Merlin. Sleeping on the ground for a few nights won't do me too much harm. Not getting him healed..." Her voice had petered out, and he was almost glad. It was better if he didn't wonder about that part of it himself.

It became dark quickly under the cover of the forest, and Arthur called a halt at the very last moment, when the light could only differentiate shadows. Gwen laid out the blankets while Arthur carefully pulled Merlin once more from the saddle. He was hot, so hot Arthur panted slightly after riding with him for the better part of a day. Gwen started leaving the small clearing they'd found, and Arthur garbled out a strangled, "what are you doing?" as he placed Merlin once more on top of the blanket he'd been wrapped in. Gwen hardly turned at his call.

"Getting firewood," was her answer, and he was torn. Should he let the lady go get the provisions, or should he stay with Merlin? He watched her go until her shadow blended in with the rest. He couldn't leave Merlin alone, not for a minute. And if he was honest, the very thought of leaving his side made his pulse quicken. Finally he sat down by Merlin's side and listened for any sound of distress. His sword rested once more in his lap.

He hadn't let himself think about what it was he was doing when he set out on this venture of his. He hadn't really thought much of anything, save that he needed Merlin to breathe again and that it felt like, if he didn't, if he failed in this quest, then he had failed as a warrior. As a leader. As a man.

Arthur ran a finger down Merlin's cheek, across his jaw. He hadn't touched Merlin like this since before he'd learned of Merlin's secret. He almost expected Merlin to open his eyes, furrow those brows, moue those lips and say his name, tilting it at the end like a question. He wanted it so much he ached. It was absurd. He'd been trying to rid himself of such feelings for weeks now, and now it was all he could think about.

The trees swayed slightly on a breeze, and Arthur was so hot from having Merlin against him, it actually felt good. He leaned his face into it a bit, let it cool the sweat on his skin. Merlin didn't move. Arthur knew he wouldn't, and yet every time he saw how still Merlin was, it hit him anew. It made him want to scream, to yell at Merlin, to demand he get up and move. It was in him to assign the unconscious man such a list of chores that he wouldn't see sunlight for days. And it was in him to pull that heavy body in for a kiss, as if a kiss could do anything at all, but he wanted it to, wanted it to bring Merlin back as if from a sound sleep, wanted to pull Merlin's body flush with his and make it hot for a completely different reason. And then he hated himself again, because after pushing Merlin away so thoroughly for so long he wondered if there was any way to salvage that part of their relationship. Any part of their relationship. And just as he had in his room before Merlin collapsed, he realized that the whole time he'd been yelling at Merlin, cursing him, pushing him away, he'd never once expected Merlin to get fed up and leave, because Merlin was always there, always, no matter what Arthur did.

The shocking taste of dishonor was vile on his tongue, in his ears. He stood up quickly. He needed battle. A quick, sudden attack, the flash of steel on steel, the bracing knowledge of an enemy to fight. He almost wished someone would come. Then he thought of Merlin, helpless, Gwen, practically the same, and snarled. He felt as if he were vibrating apart, a warring nation within his very skin. And still there was nothing he could do.

How many times? he wondered. How many times had Merlin done exactly what he'd done today – only today, he realized, his mind reeling. How many times had Merlin thrown caution, thrown self-preservation to the wind and used his magic to save Arthur's life? Just like in the throne room, when Uther had seen. Perhaps just like when he'd given Arthur that horribly mangled fruit. How many times?

He could have asked. So many days, so long, and he'd let the opportunity pass him by, because he'd been bitter and unhappy and had thought everything between them had been a lie, and he hadn't wanted to hear it. And now there was nothing but silence, silence when there had always been motion, and noise, and that ridiculous voice. Merlin would have calmed him down. Merlin would have ribbed him until he'd given in and taken out his frustrations on the poor manservant, and they would have ended up grinning at each other like loons.

Now it was dark and Gwen was still gone and Merlin wasn't moving, and if Arthur had just _listened_ to him, none of this would have happened.

He looked out to where he'd last seen Gwen's shadowy form. The forest was even darker now, just enough for the trees to be a darker shade of black than the rest of the forest, and he wondered if he shouldn't go after her. He looked back to Merlin. If anyone came upon them, they might think he was sleeping for an instant, but they would quickly realize his chest wasn't moving. He would be mistaken for dead. He would be safe. Right?

Before he had to try to talk himself into it any more, he heard a few cracks and a soft "oof" as Gwen made her way back in the dark, and he hurried forward to help her. She was nearly overburdened by twigs and branches, and she gave a small sigh of relief as he took some from her hands. Then they quickly settled down and built a fire, Arthur fanning the flames as Gwen carefully added one small twig, then another, until they had a small blaze going. Then she sat back and looked over to Merlin again. Arthur found himself doing the same, hating how the fire illuminated that face, throwing those cheekbones into sharp relief. It made the ache within him burn anew.

"May I ask what exactly happened?" Gwen asked.

He shivered as she turned hopeful dark eyes to him. They were so open. How could he say that he didn't know? That he hadn't even been there for the battle, had only shown up long enough to be targeted, to force Merlin into killing Liam. How could he begin to explain just how much he'd let Merlin down?

She seemed to see some of it in his eyes, because she nodded and looked down. "That's right," she said. Then she looked back up, her gaze strong. He could nearly see that crown on her head, and thought it would fit perfectly. "You can't be everywhere, Arthur. And you can't stop everything. I know Merlin wouldn't hold it against you. He's not that sort of person." She smiled for him.

It was love he felt for her, he realized, but perhaps not the kind of love he'd thought it was. He wasn't sure what kind it was. All he knew was that it was real. "He came to me," he said, the words nearly boiling on his tongue, and he got to see her eyes go wide. "He came to me for help, but I started an argument and..." He waved one hand, amazed he'd managed to fade off mid-sentence. He'd been taught to never do that. That it was a sign of weakness, of uncertainty, and royalty must never be uncertain.

But Gwen came to him and clasped his hands, and they were warm and soft. She smiled at him. "Merlin understands. I'm sure of it." She pulled him down to the ground with her, and they sat before the fire as it sputtered and sparked. Gwen tossed another small branch into the flames. The fire crackled and lit up, sparking into the night. Arthur watched a stray piece of ash as it floated through the darkness. "The two of you may fight, and scuffle around, but he knows you would go to the ends of the earth for him. And you must know he would do the same for you."

Each word tore at him, because while Merlin had done everything for him, Merlin's faith in him had flagged. It was why he'd gone alone. It was why he'd been saying good-bye. Arthur had given Merlin no reason to believe in Arthur anymore.

Merlin may have lied, may have hidden himself, may have started a relationship with him without divulging an extremely important piece of himself, but Arthur had been the one to turn away and slam the door shut. Maybe that wouldn't have been so wrong, in and of itself. If he'd simply said, "we're over," and dropped Merlin's love, it would have been better than dragging Merlin along with him, tormenting him even as he held Merlin close. The push-pull of it had been wrong, like giving a woman flowers and then ignoring her the next day. Teasing. Playing. A cat with a mouse, torturing the poor animal, never letting it escape, never allowing it to die. An endless, repetitive torture. How long before the mouse stops trying to escape? Stops wanting to live?

Arthur shuddered. "No," he said, in a voice that wasn't self-pitying but more... resigned. "No. I gave him no reason recently to think I would do anything for him."

Gwen was silent. The flames burst through the thick wall of quietude around them. Once again Arthur thought of Merlin, how he would start some inane babble. He wondered if Merlin had been acting like an idiot on purpose, or if the babbling was a way to keep Arthur distracted, and it had been easier to let Arthur label it how he wanted. He remembered those moments of wisdom and wondered if Merlin would have been like that all the time, if Arthur had only let him.

So many questions, and without any ability to yell at Merlin for the pain Arthur felt, he found himself nearly crushed by them.

Then Gwen leaned against him, her warmth completely different to that which he had felt all day. "It was obvious that you and Merlin had been fighting."

Arthur jerked, nearly planting her face-first in the dirt. "Sorry?"

"You and Merlin." She looked up at him from against his shoulder. It was an odd angle, and intimate, and Arthur gently placed her back up, until she was sitting on her own strength, feeling almost as if he were cheating on Merlin. That would just be the final straw. There would be no coming back from that level of disgrace. She looked at him with a little frown as she continued. "He never talked about it, but you could tell. He only ever looked like that when there was discord between the two of you." Arthur chewed on that for a moment, and Gwen took to fluffing her skirt again. After a few more minutes, during which both he and Gwen threw a couple of sticks on the fire and Arthur sent copious glances Merlin's way, Gwen finally said, "he thinks the world of you, Arthur. Whatever your fight was about, I'm sure he doesn't blame you."

_Haven't you been saying goodbye to me for weeks?_

Arthur swallowed hard. Gwen was wrong, no matter how many times she said it. Merlin had had no more hope. And that was on him. Whether or not Merlin had held him responsible, the fact remained that he was.

He threw one more branch, this one fat and nearly rotten, and stood. "Let's get some rest," he said. "We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow."

* * *

Arthur's night spent itself in dreams, dreams in which Merlin was smiling, laughing, sending him that bright, bright look that said that Arthur was everything, perfect, brilliant, that he'd chosen to do the right thing, and Merlin couldn't be prouder. But whenever Arthur reached for him, he would dance away, away, away, until he was far in the distance, that beaming smile still glaring.

Frustration. Anger, and the sound of Merlin's laughter altered, turned mocking, almost crude, as he slid further and further from Arthur's grasp. Suddenly his sword was in his hands, and he was swinging it, even though Merlin was too far away to reach. _"You lied to me!"_ he screamed.

And Merlin just kept on laughing.

* * *

The forest brightened slowly. Though Arthur was already awake at just the slightest graying of the trees, but since he let Gwen sleep in a bit and readied the horses himself, he got to watch it as it slipped through the cracks in the high boughs. Their fire had died quickly in the night. Unsurprising, since they'd only had what Gwen had been able to carry in one journey. Arthur had hardly noticed, as he'd lain down next to Merlin, and the heat radiating from his feverish body had been enough to stave off the worst of the night's chill. But Gwen had been wrapped rather tight in her blanket, and Arthur had felt guilt slip over him. He'd draped his own blanket over hers and gone about getting ready for their day.

Their food stores were already drastically depleted, yet the thought of going out hunting filled him with that same unease. He turned his gaze to Merlin. There was no change, of course; Merlin lay just as he'd been when Arthur had first placed him on the ground. Yet he still felt as if, if he left, something would happen. Merlin might die, the heat might fade to the recognizable chill, Merlin might suddenly wake up, and the curse might continue its path along his pale skin... He took a deep breath and shook his head. They had to get food, or they would starve.

Unless he took them on a roundabout route, got them to a village, got supplies... instantly he felt better, and he considered his path. There were a couple small villages if he slid slightly west. It would take a couple of hours off their time, but it was better than leaving Merlin and Gwen alone and unprotected.

So when Gwen woke up, he quickly pulled up her blankets and finished scattering the debris from the fire as he folded them up. She rubbed her eyes and smiled at him, and he did his best to return it. She then went to Merlin's side and checked him again. He was comforted by the careful way she checked his cheek, his hairline. She cared for Merlin.

Then it was time for them to get on their horses, and once Arthur had Merlin safely in front of him again, that heat immediately invading through his clothes, they set off.

The forest cleared some as they made their way forward, thinning out until it finally opened to a large meadow. Beyond the meadow, the forest began again, but Arthur had them stop, though they remained on their horses, and drink and eat. When Gwen asked about the dwindling supply, he told her of his plan to stop at a tavern and resupply. She nodded, her gaze turning to Merlin. "And Merlin?"

"He can seem to sleep. I'll need you to stay with him, however," he said, and she nodded, taking the responsibility without a murmur of complaint. He remembered her risking her neck to get the morteus flower from him and knew he couldn't leave Merlin with someone more reliable.

They traveled in silence from there on, leaving Arthur with far too much time to think. He hugged Merlin close to him through it all, even as sweat rolled down his back and brow. Every minute spent without hearing Merlin's prattle, or seeing him lean so precariously in his saddle to look at something in the forest that Arthur feared the man would fall and get trampled by a horse's hooves, made something deep within him twitch. No matter how many times he rubbed his hand down Merlin's arm, or his side, or his cheek, Merlin didn't so much as sigh. The thought that Merlin did this to himself – in order to save himself – left Arthur breathless. Somehow, it finally dawned on him that Merlin was powerful. He'd never seen another sorcerer manipulate time, freeze themselves in order to keep themselves from dying. If they could have, they might have just chosen to seem dead after being placed on the pyre – or even before. But none had.

That left him with a _powerful_ sorcerer as his manservant. And what had Merlin said just before he'd frozen himself? _Before_ that hated question.

"_I'm just your servant, and I'm happy to be that until the day I die."_

He'd heard those words before. After he'd been bitten by the Questing Beast, while he'd been recovering and doing his damnedest to not chafe at the lack of duties he'd been given. Merlin had come in and given him that line, and had told him he would make a great king, and to not be such a prat. And, he realized, he'd thought there had been something wrong, because Merlin had been acting strangely and he'd thought there might have been tears in Merlin's eyes. He'd thought the man had just been happy Arthur was alive, and he'd studiously kept the conversation from such a topic, because Merlin had seemed so...

_He'd been miraculously healed by Gaius._

Not only had Merlin seemed to be saying goodbye, but he'd been healed by Gaius. Miraculously healed, some had said. When it was impossible by conventional standards, a couple had whispered. Morgana had been the one to relay him all those messages, he thought with a short pang for his lost sister. Morgana had let him know that some suspected sorcery.

Sorcery.

Why, in these past weeks, had he never thought to look back? Why hadn't he wondered what all he'd missed, what all he'd not seen? And what, _what_ had Merlin done, what had he sacrificed, to ensure Arthur's recovery?

Dare he look back further? Dare he wonder just how many times something like that had happened?

This time when he hugged Merlin tight, he buried his nose in his hair.

The day wore on, the forest giving way to shrubbery and short, dense foliage. They picked their way through the worst of it before finally finding a thin path the villagers nearby obviously used, and by the time dusk had arrived, they were in front of the tavern, Merlin's body scorching Arthur's after the day's long ride.

His lips thinned as he took in the rotting wood, rowdy noises, foul odors. This was not the tavern he remembered from a couple of years ago. The place had deteriorated. Drastically.

The stable was in complete shambles, and Arthur saw no one manning the two horses already stalled. The very walls creaked as Arthur led his and Gwen's horses inside, Merlin bobbing precariously on the back of Arthur's. The very idea of leaving Merlin in such a place made him nearly shake. He could just see the kind of vagabonds who would pass past the horses, perhaps looking to steal from their nearly empty sacks, perhaps looking at Merlin and seeing a drunken fool. They would accost him, and he, for all the world dead, would have no way of protecting himself from whatever they had planned.

He switched plans.

With Gwen watching both him and the surrounding area with equal nervousness, Arthur pulled Merlin down and managed to turn the heated body onto his back. Gwen hurried forward to arrange him a bit better. "Take my dagger," he told her, and she did, her eyes wide, her slim fingers tickling his back as she pulled the thing from its sheathe. Arthur couldn't help but notice that there was a warmth to her touch, but no fire. "If anything happens," he said, "grab Merlin and use that dagger on anyone who comes near you. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Her eyes were still impossibly wide.

If anything, the rattiness and bawdiness and foulness only increased the moment Arthur and Gwen entered the bar, and for an instant Arthur was willing to turn right around and take his chances leaving Gwen and Merlin to hunt in the wild. But then he huffed Merlin back up a bit and carried on, because Arthur never backed down before, and he wouldn't now. Not when turning would mean showing Merlin to these men.

A sort of silence swept over the room as Arthur brought Merlin through the tables and the crowd, and everyone stopped to witness the spectacle that was a man carrying another injured man on his back. No one got up to help, to offer their chair, to even ask what had happened. Arthur hadn't expected anything else. These were not honorable men.

He stopped next to a completely sloshed man half asleep on the counter. There was no need to call for the bartender's attention; the man had been watching Arthur's progress with narrowed eyes and thin lips the entire time. "We don't want no diseases here," the man said, and Arthur was nearly inclined to punch him straight through his termite-infested wall.

"This is an inn, and the only one for over a day's journey."

The man shrugged. "Guess ya best get goin', then." And he started cleaning out a cup.

Arthur held Merlin up with one hand and reached out with his other, yanking the barman to him. More than one chair scraped across the floor behind him. "Give me a room."

"Why should I, pretty boy?" the man snarled, showing off yellowing teeth, and Arthur was about to shout in the entire damn tavern just who the man was talking to when the half-comatose man on the counter beside Arthur suddenly slammed his drink on the table.

"Give him the room, mate," the man said, and Arthur and the barman both looked to the guy, their eyebrows shooting up almost in sync. But Merlin was heavier than he looked, and finally he had to let go of the barkeep in order to adjust him on his back again.

There were a few more chairs pushed out then, and a couple lumbering footsteps. Gwen huddled a little closer to Arthur's side. Arthur half-turned. Of course it was the larger men who led the group, trying to glare down on Arthur. Carefully, ready to act swiftly if the need arose, He lowered Merlin to the ground. Gwen, shaking slightly and lips trembling, scooted immediately to Merlin's side. Arthur was gratified to see the dagger already in her hands.

The man who'd stood up for Arthur took over before Arthur could straighten back up from his crouch. He nearly flew at the first beefy, shirtless buffoon who chose to get on Arthur's bad side. The tackle threw the man back onto a table, and the thing crumpled like the precarious ticking time bomb it was. A couple of the men backed way from the awkward jumble of feet and arms, and Arthur took the distraction to kick one man away and pull out his sword.

A nice pause rippled across the room for a full number of seconds, as many of the fools around him realized they were either outmatched or too drunk to hold their swords straight. It didn't last long, but it was long enough for Arthur's unlikely ally to punch the large man to stillness and pop back up, flipping his long curly hair back as he did. The man was grinning fit to split his face.

Arthur cut down the first man who went after him, a man so drunk he didn't even seem to notice that he went after an armed man with little more than his knuckles and a snarl. If Arthur hadn't had two people to protect, he might have let the man go. As it was, he didn't hesitate.

Two more came, and one was waylaid by the rogue. Another quick sprawl, and Arthur had to quickstep to avoid tumbling headfirst onto the rolling fools battling it out below knee-level. He slashed away someone coming near. They hopped back, and one or two of them seemed to be rethinking their goals. A third eased out the door. Somehow that made Arthur even more anxious; the idea of those men getting reinforcements, or stealing their few provisions, or killing their horse – yet he couldn't go after them or hurry away. Not with Merlin and Gwen helpless behind him.

Thankfully, their benefactor seemed perfectly capable of moving around, and move around he did. While Arthur used the hilt of his sword to smash one man's face in, the curly-haired drunkard flipped a man clean over his shoulder into another ratting table, clipping another with the edge of it as it tore apart. He took the chance to land a solid punch to the man's jaw as Arthur cut through one of the few armed enemies.

A couple more slid out, but the rest charged en masse, and Arthur was suddenly hard pressed to keep Merlin and Gwen safe. While the man helping him took three of them at once, Arthur took on the rest as they each squirmed to get behind him. He knocked another with his pommel, but the rest came too quickly, and Arthur was forced to cut one down, then hold back the sword of another. Gwen stood then, the dagger held before her, and stood over Merlin. Men came at Arthur from each side. He pushed the armed one before him away, kicked the one on his right, and slashed through the other on his left.

The armed one recovered first, and he led the charge on Arthur again. This time Arthur was ready, and he pushed his sword through the man's chest and kicked him back into another. His ally took down a couple of enemies with a chair. The last ducked.

Arthur had to grab a man's hand before it found its way around Gwen's arm, and he took a page from his ally's book and wrenched the man around until he stumbled straight into one on his opposite side. He slashed the man as he fell, leaving the other to flail underneath his carcass.

Two more came at him, and he prepared to cut them down, as well, but his ally came then, charging the men like a bull, his third knocked out at some point during Arthur's own fight, and took both down by knocking their heads together. Arthur quickly took out the man still flailing like a fool and turned to the barman as the last two ran off. The man was cowering behind his counter, hands over his head. Arthur tapped lightly on the counter. "I'd like a room."

The barman's eyes widened. His ally laughed. The barman nodded. "Of course, sir."

Arthur nodded. He turned to his ally. "Thank you."

His ally nodded and grinned. "Hey, no problem. Anything to help out a damsel in distress." Arthur was about to take offense when he noticed the man's eyes had turned to Gwen. She smiled a bit weakly, the dagger still held before her. She seemed to notice it the same time Arthur did, because she very carefully lowered her hands back to her sides. The man winked at her. She blushed.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Gwen, you did great." She looked at him with another, deeper blush, and ducked her head to hide her smile. "I need you to watch over Merlin while I deal with this man," he said, nodding to the barkeep. The man nearly quailed.

Then Arthur turned his gaze to his ally. The man gave him a cocky grin and sized him up, too. Arthur had always been able to tell, before anyone had ever so much as held a sword before him, who would make it through to become a knight and who didn't deserve the title. Both through valor and through strength, this man would make it. And he'd helped Arthur protect Merlin and Gwen.

He cleaned his sword as best he could on a dead man's shirt before sheathing it. Then he held out his hand. "Whatever your reasons for helping me, I'm in your debt."

The man lifted his head, using his chin as a pointer, and gestured to Merlin. "Your friend. Is he all right?"

Despite the fact that Arthur knew damn well he'd prevented anyone from getting past him, and despite the fact that Gwen, who had stood before him, would have been injured first, and she didn't have so much as a scrape on her, still the question made him tense, and he made his way to Merlin's prone form. His ally trailed slowly behind, careful of the tension in Arthur's shoulders.

Merlin was furnace-hot, and Arthur frowned. He remembered the terror in his limbs as he'd brought Merlin's dead-like body to Gaius' chambers, and he hadn't known Merlin was alive. If he'd been hot like this, he wouldn't have agonized over Merlin's death. He'd have known right away that something was wrong.

His lips thinned. His fingers trembled. Something was happening. And if Merlin was this hot, they were running out of time.

He stood quickly. "Gwen, help the barkeep gather us provisions. We're going to have to head back out." Gwen looked at him, her eyes wider than even the barkeep's had been, and then she jumped – literally – and got to work grabbing packets of bread and waving the barkeep to bring out his cheeses and fruits. The man did so with thin lips and a furious glare toward Gwen. But she seemed to have figured out that Merlin was in some sort of danger, and she just continued piling up the food.

His ally cocked his head at the show. The man's eyes were on Merlin. "It's bad?"

It was instinct to say no, to drive off the questions from strangers that might put him in a vulnerable position. But at the same time, he needed help. Desperately.

He turned to the man. "I know you owe me nothing," Arthur said, and it physically hurt to turn to such a stranger, to allow him to see Arthur's need for assistance. But if he didn't hurry, something might happen to Merlin. He might not ever wake up again. To protect Merlin, he would accept vulnerability. "And I know I already owe you."

The man raised his hand, and for a moment, he feared the worst. But then that cocky grin came back. "I was getting bored with bar hopping, anyway. Name's Gwaine, by the way."

Arthur tilted his head. "Arthur," he said, forgoing the title. He nodded toward Gwen. "Can you help her pack up? I need to check with Merlin."

The man shrugged, nodded, and switched his grin from cocky to... suave. He touched Gwen's shoulder and grinned down on her. And thought Arthur wanted to shoo him off, he didn't feel a green beast eat at his insides. It left him momentarily confused, and then he was grabbing up Merlin and taking him straight back out of the tavern.

Their horse had thankfully been left alone, and one young man was just finishing grooming him. His horse stopped munching on the hay provided the moment Arthur showed up, and Arthur turned to the stableboy. "Saddle her up." The boy scrabbled to do as ordered, and Arthur wondered how many times the boy had been beaten by the men of the tavern. He thought to help the boy, but he couldn't save everyone, and Merlin came first. Still, when the boy finished in record time, he looked over the kid's handiwork and, satisfied both with the time and the result, told the boy, "if you make your way to Camelot, I can assure you a job in the castle stables."

The boy didn't seem to know whether to scoff or stare. "You cannae guarantee that, sirrah."

"I'm the prince. I can guarantee whatever I want."

If Merlin had been awake, he wouldn't have let that comment go without a good jest and a laugh at Arthur's expense. He couldn't believe how much he wished he could hear it.

The boy was suitably impressed, however, and he nodded as Arthur trotted out his horse. Gwen was already there, her arms filled with foodstuff. As Arthur watched, Gwaine exited the tavern, as well. His hands, however, carried two flagons of water, a torch, and what looked to be a couple of blankets and a small flagon of ale. Arthur hadn't asked for any such thing, but he didn't bother arguing with the man about it. The very fact that this stranger was willing to help him was enough.

They loaded his poor horse down, and Arthur was forced to lie Merlin on top of his horse like a sack of potatoes, because there was no way he would be able to stand the heat and make good time. The weight would be too much for his poor stallion, and Merlin was like a raging fire.

Gwen went up to him and moved to check his vitals, perhaps seeing if he'd woken up and that was why Arthur was distressed. One quick touch on his forehead, however, and she pulled her hand back, eyes wide. Her gaze swept over to Arthur, and he knew she'd noticed it, too. She touched his wrist, his neck, held her hand over his mouth. From what Arthur could tell, she was checking to see if he was alive. But Arthur knew he wasn't. He knew it instinctively, because Merlin's absence was like a constant ringing in his ears, a scratching up and down his skin, a murmur of adrenaline even when he tried to sleep. Like being unconscious, the few times he'd seen Merlin so unnaturally still, except with a gnawing sense of _wrongness_, even more wrong than Merlin being injured. He didn't know how to explain it. It didn't make sense. But still he knew, before she pulled away with furrowed brows, that Merlin had not been freed from his own makeshift prison.

They made their way as quickly as they could on foot. Both Arthur and Gwaine, without having to speak of it, stayed at pace with Gwen, who, though she hurried, couldn't go as quickly as men who trained to fight. Though Arthur suspected Gwaine had learned to fight in tavern brawls, the man still had the stamina of a warrior. Arthur watched the man's easy gait, his swaying posture, his easy grin as he flirted shamelessly with Gwen, and thought the man might be like Lancelot – a knight through and through. Strong, honorable enough to help a man he doesn't know, capable enough to take care of himself in a fight. The man wasn't nobility, just as Lance wasn't, but Arthur held no doubt that he was a knight.

It was dark now, dark enough that the forest, when they returned to it, was a thick blanket of black, with no light from the stars able to filer through. If it weren't for the torch Gwaine had grabbed, they would be walking blind. As it was, they could see nothing around them. There could be wolves at the edges of their fire, monsters following the scent of magic (well, maybe they did! how would he know?), bandits sleeping just off the next rise. The tension made him pull out his sword, even as he led his horse forward, one eye always on Merlin, making sure he didn't fall off. Gwen was wise enough to stick behind him. Gwaine took up the rear, the flagon of ale at his side. But while the man took a couple of sips every once in a while, he kept himself sober, ready for the next battle.

The night was long, and heavy, and Arthur felt every minute pass like one might a call to battle.

After a few hours, he heard Gwaine and Gwen talking in low tones to one another. He didn't bother yelling at them for it; Gwaine seemed to be keeping Gwen animated enough that she didn't slow down in weariness. The man even had her giggling a few times, and he wondered why he wasn't jealous if he enjoyed her nearness. Yet why did he enjoy her nearness and still have his eyes sharply focused on Merlin? While he could see her as his queen, could even see her in his bed, the thought nearly revolted him. He thought of touching her and wanted to reel back, wanted to spit the scene from his mind. He could see the disappointed look on Merlin's face as if it were actually there. Could see the fool try to smile it away. And he knew that was what Merlin had done every time Arthur had brought up Gwen. Merlin had thought Arthur was in love with her, he recalled, thinking back on the conversation he'd had with the idiot when they'd been on their way to rescue her from her kidnappers. If he'd thought Arthur in love with Gwen, what had he thought of their relationship?

Merlin had said he'd always known it wouldn't last. And at the same time, the man hadn't seemed to doubt Arthur's affections. Perhaps Merlin had always known that Arthur would need a wife, a queen, and had preferred the idea of Arthur with Gwen than with anyone else.

No. In the end, attempting to follow any of Merlin's convoluted reasoning would do nothing but make him confused and angry. He would simply have to ask him when he got better.

_When_. Not if.

The sounds of the night pierced through his thoughts, and he scowled. Each step felt like he was moving through molasses, attempting to run through a darkness whose tentacles reached out to trip him, hold him back, pull him away. The tavern had carved nearly a day from their travels, and the urge to hurry, hurry, hurry pounded thick in his veins. With every cricket's hum, every owl's inquisitive hoot, Arthur felt as if hours had passed. He wanted to check Merlin's state, but feared what he would find. Merlin would burn himself out at this rate. He'd heard of men dying from heat. And if Merlin didn't die, simply because he _couldn't_ at the moment, what would happen when he awoke? Would the heat remain? Would it have killed him? Would Arthur bring Merlin back, the curse finally gone, only to watch Merlin die in his arms again, anyway?

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and shook his head fiercely. No, he couldn't let that happen. No matter how angry he was, no matter how betrayed he felt, the last thing he could stand was the thought of Merlin's death.

It had been the one thing he'd asked of Merlin. The one thing he'd demanded. _Don't die._ His one command.

He wanted to be angry with Merlin for going out to face such danger on his own. But he couldn't, because Merlin had done all he could to keep himself alive. And he'd come to Arthur, just before going out to take care of it himself. He kept thinking of that moment, the hesitant, almost shy way Merlin had come to him for help. It made his gut clench in his chest. It hadn't been the first time Merlin had come to him. He still remembered that moment – Merlin's eyes shining with pride, the head of a giant green snake slowly rotting on his dining table. But it was the first time Merlin had come with all of his secrets bare.

He had to stop thinking about it. If he didn't stop, the memories just might kill him.

So he listened in on Gwen's and Gwaine's conversation, and heard them talking about Merlin. "So he's been cursed? That's why we're headed to the border?"

Gwen made an affirmative noise, and Arthur wondered if he should reprimand her for giving him the information or not. "We're not actually headed for Nemeth. You don't need to worry about that. We're going to some sort of holy place. It's a shrine." Gwen sent a look in his direction and seemed startled to find he was actually paying attention. He grimaced.

"The shrine of Abzul," he said, and it was his turn to be surprised as Gwaine made a noise somewhere between exclamation and understanding.

"Oh! Yeah, I've heard of the place. Bunch of druid markers about? Ruins, I think?" The man made another sound. "But I think it's guarded by some sort of apparition or beast. No one goes near it. I heard that was why the king never went after it. He goes after all places like that, I hear, anything with the Old Religion in it in some way. You're lucky the king hasn't heard of your boy. He'd kill him off for sure."

Arthur's lips thinned. The man didn't know the half of it. And for once, Arthur felt no need to rise to his father's defense. He himself had needed subterfuge to get Merlin safely out of Camelot. He perhaps knew better than anyone just how his father felt about magic and the Old Religion. Which was why Arthur couldn't believe his father had left it alone simply because of some danger to be faced. The man wanted all magic eradicated. The king saw it as nothing but evil. And Arthur had been raised to think the same.

Maybe, he'd told Merlin once, when he was going to meet Morgause to fulfill his promise to her, not all magic was evil. Merlin had looked at him like he was the god of the sun, like Arthur was a hot flame and Merlin the hapless moth, willing to risk death to get closer to his light.

And then he'd been hurt, used, betrayed, and he'd told Merlin he recognized the evil his father spoke of. How magic was evil.

It took his breath away, and he stopped for a moment to regain it. He'd told Merlin himself, in his own words, with his own lips. His own voice. Merlin, who had stopped Arthur from killing his father, who had badmouthed magic in order to get Arthur to regain his senses... Merlin, who had looked at Arthur when he'd grabbed Merlin and ordered him into his bed like his every word was made of gold, had heard Arthur condemn all magic-users.

Gwen came to him, put a hand on his shoulder. He nearly shrugged it off. But then she leaned closer, obviously trying to give her words privacy, and said, "as long as the two of you live, there is hope."

_As long as the two of you live, there is hope._

There was still a chance for him to set it right. It wasn't too late. Not yet. Merlin was still fighting for his life, and Arthur wouldn't give up. He would heal Merlin of his curse, help him through his fever, through whatever came of the effects of the magic he'd used to sustain his own life. And he would bow before Merlin, and give him his blade, and bed redemption for the pain he'd put Merlin through with his own selfishness.

How could he not have understood Merlin's fears? How could Merlin ever have trusted him with his secret when Arthur had said such words to him? No matter how fondly he'd looked on Merlin, Merlin had known his opinions on magic. What else could he do but lie? What other options had Arthur given him?

He would beg forgiveness, and he would tell Merlin he didn't want him to leave, that not once had he, even in the worst of his anger, wanted to say goodbye. And he would demand no more secrets, not from either of them. He would tell Merlin he loved Gwen, but not the way he'd thought, not the way _Merlin_ had thought, and perhaps not in a way that could be understood. He loved her as his queen, as the woman who he could see ruling his kingdom, even as a woman who might be his wife. But _not_ the kind of wife that meant a life partner. Not the commitment that he'd made the moment he'd allowed his defenses to fall and pulled Merlin in for a kiss.

He would explain it all, and he would make it _right_. No more aimless fury. No more barbed words designed for nothing more than bringing pain. He would swear it on his life.

He took Gwen's fingers in his. Squeezed. He gave her a light smile, and she returned one nearly as bright as Merlin's. And he nodded. "All right. We need to pick up the pace. Can you do that?"

She nodded, grinned. "Of course." With two steps she stopped by Arthur's stallion and pulled out a couple of loaves of bread. "Shall we eat while we journey?"

And Gwaine snatched up one of the loaves with a deep grin. "Don't mind if I do, gorgeous."

And though Gwen rolled her eyes slightly at the flirtation, her smile never dimmed. "Shall we, then, Arthur?"

Arthur took the loaf she handed to him, his sword still in one hand, the reins now taken by Gwen. With Gwaine's hands full with the torch and the bread, it was up to Arthur to stop any attack. His will hardened to steel with just one look at Merlin's motionless face. "We shall."

* * *

By the time dawn came, they'd made up their lost time. Gwen was panting slightly, but every time Arthur so much as turned to look at her, she shook her head and gestured forward. "Keep going," she would say, every single time, and Arthur would be struck again by her willpower, her strength, her love, her kindness. She would make a beautiful queen. And somehow, the thought no longer pulled at him. He needed a queen. For his kingdom, he would need to take her as his wife – her, or another woman, and the thought displeased him; no other woman he knew would do. But it didn't make him feel like he was failing Merlin, because Merlin would be his husband in every way that mattered. If Merlin would have him.

Merlin would be no concubine. No consort. He didn't know how to work it out, or even if he could. But if he couldn't, if Merlin or Gwen was against it, then his kingdom just might have to deal with a queenless king.

The thought actually calmed him.

Whoever this Gwaine was, the man was apparently used to all-nighters, because he was still energetic even after a full night of traipsing through the forest. Gwen's eyes drooped, and she yawned nearly incessantly, but Gwaine always seemed ready with a random story of some bar he'd gone to or some place he'd found or some trouble he'd found himself in (it seemed a habit), and she would always politely listen and end up laughing. It inevitably woke her up for another round of walking, and Arthur was grateful. The lack of Merlin's presence – and he'd finally figured out that that was what this magically-dead Merlin lacked that an unconscious one still retained – was grating horribly along his nerves, and he was afraid he would snap at Gwen if she started slowing him down.

Still, it was gratifying to be able to lower his guard a bit, as Gwaine rubbed the torch into the dirt and stowed it away with the blankets on Arthur's horse. He took the lessening of responsibility to heart and grabbed himself a bit of cheese and a peach. He munched on them as birds twittered about on the branches overhead. Their songs meshed wildly together, somehow melodious instead of dissonant, and the sun brought the dew to life on the grass and leaves. The forest nearly sparkled. And it grated, tore at him, that Merlin, who always looked at the forest as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world, couldn't be there to exclaim, as usual, over a squirrel scampering up a tree or a flower scenting the air or a beetle passing by his horse's nose.

Without Merlin, all he could see was the tracks of deer and the small, slight path that started showing itself through the thick grasses, a path that hinted at well-worn traveling. With how hard Arthur pushed them, they had a chance of making it to the shrine before nightfall, so long as they didn't stop. And if they didn't, a hard push would get them there before the moon was halfway through its path.

They took turns eating. After Arthur finished, Gwen ate. After Gwen, Gwaine, who washed it down with a few gulps of ale, making Gwen wrinkle her nose slightly in distaste. Gwaine gave her one of those ridiculous swashbuckling grins, and she let it go with a grin and a sigh. The man seemed able to get away with anything with that look.

After they ate, it was more walking, and Arthur finally took pity on Gwen and helped her climb into the saddle with Merlin. It was difficult; Merlin needed to lie down still, as Gwen didn't have the strength to hold him up, even without the suffocating heat. Heat that, Arthur noted with a slight amount of hysteria bubbling in his throat, nearly cooked Arthur's fingers. Gwen paled as she took it in herself, but she didn't complain, even though keeping Merlin as he was meant pushing her to the edge of the saddle, which was most certainly uncomfortable and definitely not conducive to steadiness. Still, she nodded when Arthur asked her is she was all right, and she carefully flicked the horse's reins, one hand steady on Merlin's back, to show she had no desire to slow them down any more. Her eyes fixed dead ahead. Arthur left her to her silence, and Gwaine, though he chattered more than the birds, perhaps even more than Merlin, started talking to no one in particular, simply filled in the silence. Though Arthur did manage to learn that the man knew the area fairly well, and had traveled through it just a few weeks ago, though he'd taken an extremely circuitous route until finally reaching the tavern Arthur and Gwen had met him in.

Though Arthur could feel a tiredness within him, he managed to beat it back at every turn with nothing more than a look at Merlin, the memory of holding him limp in his arms, of Merlin's breath stilled, his heart quiet. And the strength would return to his limbs with another surge of purpose, of adrenaline, even of fear.

They did not make it by nightfall.

Gwaine lit the torch again with a piece of flint, though it was obvious the thing needed to be re-spun. The oiled cloth was starting to fray; the thing might last another night, but probably not a third. Arthur didn't care. If it went to a third night, they might be too late. And he couldn't let that happen.

The darkness seemed even more complete than the night before, and Arthur's limbs had become heavy with weariness. He took to walking nearer and nearer the horse as the animal struggled slightly with the constant heat on its back. Arthur pet it, felt the slight sweat on its nose and neck. But the reason he stayed close was the feel the heat nearly curling the air around Merlin. It was even worse now; Arthur could hardly stand the nearness without panting. Gwen had started fanning herself hours ago, during the height of the day, and Arthur and Gwaine both had begun handing her the flagons of water. They were nearly empty now; only two left, and one only half-full, but Gwen was taking it in small sips, trying to save the last for Merlin when he woke, and Arthur was grateful.

Then, about an hour into the night, when the crickets started chirping merrily and the fluttering of bats came from some dwelling Arthur couldn't make out in the blackness, he felt a sudden shift in the air. He stopped for a moment, grabbed his horse's reins, and signaled to Gwaine before remembering the man didn't know the silent language Arthur used with his knights. "Do you feel that?" he asked, the first words out of his mouth in hours.

"Yeah," Gwaine said, his head tilting to the side, listening for something. But though Arthur strained his own ears – his eyes were useless thanks to the torch – he heard nothing out of the ordinary.

Oddly enough, this would be about the time that Merlin would mention something strange, feeling like the place was haunted, or cursed, and maybe they shouldn't step within.

Or maybe, he thought, angry with himself for forgetting for even a second, it wasn't strange at all.

He crept forward. According to his mental map, they were near the shrine, or at least near where it should have stood. The air didn't seem malicious, as far as he could tell. It was just tense, and a bit cold. Like the air of twilight, or just before dawn, when the worlds of night and day slept and the air was still. There was a sort of harmony here. Harmony or unity, and if Merlin could speak, Arthur thought he would tell Arthur to put his weapon away, for goodness' sake, and treat the place with a little respect. So he did, and with a word, so did Gwaine. He had no idea if he was setting them up for an attack by the supposed apparition or not.

He held out his hand for the torch, and Gwaine handed it to him, his gaze darting from Arthur to the black forest, right and left, his hand itching over his sword. But Arthur shook his head, and Gwaine somehow understood Arthur to be leader. Definitely innate knight material; Arthur might have to keep this man and damn his father's 'nobility only' law.

The near-anger for his father in his mind might have surprised him, had he time to worry about it.

Though Arthur felt like he was wasting time, time Merlin desperately didn't have, still he held his hand up for Gwaine and Gwen to wait and pushed slowly forward. The forest, still dense and thick as if they were in the heart of the woods, dropped to nothing but meadow in the span of three steps. The torch suddenly lit the area in a thin swath of red and yellow, curling the corners into gray before delving the rest of the woods into black. Arthur eyes the space. 'Ruins' was an extremely generous label; the meadow, no more than five meters in circumference, held what looked to be an old temple. Only a few pillars and a doorway showed where the walls of the temple had once stood. The floor, cracked and pitted as if the earth itself had split it apart – or as if a small war had been waged – showed little but rubble, pieces of what might have once been scaffolding or ceiling nothing but rocks and boulders littering the space. The only thing that might have been considered still standing was a long, thin bit of rock, chipped and notched but showing obvious signs of having once been sculpted, sitting in the very middle of the ruined flooring.

That could only be the altar. Which meant it was Merlin's only chance.

The moment Arthur stepped into the clearing, the wind changed. It picked up his hair and blew his bangs into his face. The torch sputtered madly before dying out, leaving him in darkness, punctuated only by the few stars viewable from the meadow. The moon barely crested the treetops.

It forced Arthur's eyes to adjust quickly, and his hand itched to unsheathe his sword. He didn't. He would if he was attacked, but he remembered this place being called _pure_. One of the few pure places left. And so he held up his hands, and he called out, "please, if there is anyone here. I have a friend who's been hurt. He's cursed. He needs your help."

The wind whipped tighter still, and he wondered if he hadn't made a serious mistake. Perhaps bringing Merlin to this place had been the wrong thing to do. But Merlin was burning up. He was dying, even in death. If this didn't work – if this was the wrong decision – then Merlin would pay for it with his life. "If there is anyone, show yourself now! He hasn't any time to lose!"

The trees howled. Arthur feared more that Gwaine and Gwen would come for him, or that Merlin might get sucked into the storm, than for himself. If he needed to, he could pull out his sword and fight. But Gwen was unable to fully defend herself, and Merlin was helpless. Horribly, horribly helpless and dying.

Just as he was about to shout again, something shimmered before him. Within the broken doorway of the old temple, the wind curled around something nearly tangible. When Arthur strained his limited night vision, he thought he might have been picking up the sight of a woman. But there'd been no one before. Sorceress? He nearly pulled out his sword.

Then the wind stopped, as if it had never been, and the stars and moon seemed almost to shine straight on her. Or perhaps she glowed. Arthur didn't know.

She stood there in the remnants of the doorway for a few moments, and it seemed almost as if her body formed from the wind and the humming of the night. She was like a ghost. Translucent, pale, shimmering nearly blue. Yet when she stepped toward him, he heard the steady crunch of grass under her feet. He stood his ground as she stepped in front of him, shockingly tall, like Morgana. And though she was translucent, he could plainly see the demeanor of her face, soft and gentle like light waves on a beach, her mouth twisted into a small, empathetic grimace as she looked on him. "Welcome, Once and Future King."

He ignored the title for the moment and sized her up. It was obvious she was unnatural, magical. But of what quality? A small smile slipped onto her features as he stared, as if she knew his thoughts and found them amusing. He nearly snarled. Only the reminder of Merlin, burning, dying, made him stop. "My friend is ill. He was cursed by a man and his weapon."

She nodded. "I have felt the taint since you entered my domain. What do you ask of me?"

"Heal him," he said without thought. Then he realized she might be asking for something in return, and he narrowed his eyes. "What is your demand?"

But the inhuman woman merely shook her head. "Bring him to me," she said.

He didn't want to. She was _magic_. She could do anything to Merlin in the pretext of healing him and Arthur would never know.

But Merlin was _dying_. What else could Arthur do? He knew of no other way to defeat the curse, and Merlin's body was boiling. It tore at him, but he had to. And if she harmed him in any way, a rain of suffering would come upon her worse than she had ever dreamed.

He thought he saw another flickering smile before he turned and raced back.

The darkness was even more complete without the ethereal light, and he nearly bumped into Gwen as she paced shortly one way or the other. He looked behind him, amazed to find he couldn't see the meadow anymore. The trees were thick, and it seemed as if they went on for miles. He squinted, trying to see past the blaze of the torch still in his hand, but he was certain the branches of the trees couldn't stretch the shadows as far as they did.

Magic. He shivered at it.

He handed the torch back to Gwaine and moved to grab Merlin. He'd been taken off the horse; it was probably for the best; they wouldn't have run without Arthur, and his stallion looked like he had barely been able to stand the heat any longer. Merlin was putting off waves of heat, even from a distance, like a bonfire. Arthur wondered sickly if Merlin's body was being used as the fuel, or if it was his magic. And if so, was it like a normal fire, blazing hottest just before the fuel ran low, or was it somehow different? He didn't know enough of magic to be sure. He didn't want to find out.

Just wrapping his arms around Merlin made him feel like he was holding the torch by the wrong end. He ignored the pain and lifted Merlin, heart plummeting, as always, when Merlin stayed limp as a doll in his arms. He hurried back to the clearing, stopping in shock all over again when the forest disappeared around him and the ruins came once more into view.

The woman-creature still waited, once more shrouded beneath the arch of the abandoned temple. Her eyes caught immediately on Merlin, and Arthur, despite the intense heat that seemed to be burning his arms to cinders, curled him protectively to his chest. Her face was a mask of pain, and she stepped closer again, until one hand hovered just over Merlin's temple. "Oh, what you do for your love, little Emrys."

She gestured him over to the cracked altar. He placed Merlin down as if he were made of porcelain, even though he felt like he was glass being blown by the gaffer of death. "We will need fire, and water," she said, pulling him from the vision of Death leaning over Merlin's corpse-like body. "Earth lies beneath your feet, wind in the very air. But I need the other elements, as well. The corruption in him is strong." And she gently pulled up the sleeve of Merlin's tunic, and Arthur's breath caught all over again as he looked over the jagged black lines along his arm. She touched it, and a sudden shot of blue traced up the lines. Arthur grabbed the hilt of his sword before he had the chance to think about it. "Do not desecrate this ground, King, or I cannot purify him."

Whether it was a threat or a statement of mere fact, it stilled Arthur's hand. And his breath.

"Go," she said, gazing on him with eyes suddenly emblazoned with something. He no longer doubted whether she glowed. "Find me my fire and water. Bring it to the temple."

He looked to Merlin, vulnerable and defenseless in her hands, and looked back at the witch. "If any harm comes to him, I will kill you."

If anything, the creature actually seemed amused by his proposition. "Of course you will, King."

He took a single step back, but paused when the creature pushed back Merlin's bangs and cupped his jaw. She leaned in so close Arthur almost feared she was going to kiss him. He froze, the instinct to protect Merlin fierce within his breast. She hadn't seemed afraid of his threat. Could he defeat this thing, if it came to a battle? More importantly, could he do it before she harmed Merlin?

But Merlin was already harmed, grievously so, and getting worse by the second. With an almost inhuman snarl, Arthur wrenched himself away. The sooner he got the woman's precious 'elements,' the sooner he could be once again by Merlin's side.

Gwen and Gwaine stood at the very edge of the forest – Arthur nearly bumped into them again – looking confused and, with Gwen, very slightly terrified. She grabbed his arm as he made to pass. "Arthur!" He looked down at her. She blushed. "You disappeared."

Disappeared? Could they not enter the unnatural clearing? He turned to Gwaine, held out his hand. "I need the torch back. Gwen, could you get me the flask of water that remains?"

"Is he awake?" she asked, running over to the horse to do as he bid. Gwaine silently handed over the torch.

"No. Not yet." Gwen must have heard something taut and slightly torn in his voice, because she merely hurried back, flask in hand. She handed it to him.

"It's magic, isn't it?" she asked under her voice, her eyes dancing furtively to where Arthur had appeared before her. He nodded sharply. She backed away, chewing her lower lip, but she didn't fight when Arthur raced back from whence he'd come.

He burst through the magical barrier – if that indeed was what it was – this time without even blinking, and raced up to where the thing stood hovering over Merlin, looking down on his like a wispy vulture. He wasn't subtle when he moved to stand between her and Merlin. But again, there was nothing but amusement. She gestured to the altar. "On either side of his head, please," she said.

He could be helping anything. He didn't know what she was. What if she was a demon, preying on those who came to this ruined temple in search of healing? He hesitated again, even as Merlin's heat burned his side. "What are you?" he asked, placing the water beside Merlin, but not the torch.

"I am one of the Nemausicae," she said, as if that was any sort of answer. Arthur frowned. She stood up straight, leaving off leaning over Merlin to try to intimidate him with her presence. Or, from the nearly playful look in her eye, perhaps simply to mess with him. "My sisters and I are young goddesses of fertility and healing." That smile came back. "If you'd like, I can make your mate fertile."

Arthur sputtered at the word _mate_. Then the sentence fell on him and he sputtered even more. She laughed. "Then I won't," she said, answering something that hadn't yet gotten past the dumbstruck part of his mind to yet be given voice.

"What are you going to do to him?" he asked, the words sounding slightly choked as he thought with a bastard mix of horror and morbid fascination at the thought of Merlin _being fertile_. Carrying a child. It might have answered a few of his problems with producing lineage, but the very thought made him shudder. He would never force such a thing on Merlin. And it would be nothing but force. The very thought made him vaguely sick.

"I will heal him," she said. "He will be tired after his ordeal. I will help how I can, reduce the backlash of the magic he used, but he will be weak. He will need your protection."

The words washed over him, and he placed down his torch. "I swear on my honor. Merlin will not be harmed. By anyone. Including me."

Her gaze was deeply appraising; even deeper with eyes that seemed to glow iridescently. "I will hold you to your promise, King."

She leaned over again, her hands over Merlin's body, her presence close to his in ways that spoke of needing space. He didn't give it to her, and she didn't demand it of him.

And then she started to sing.

It was not a natural song. Or, perhaps it was more natural than anything else Arthur had heard. It was as if the rocks were her bass, the trees and leaves her instruments, the wind her melody. And from it all came a humming, high, long, keening notes that warbled in the still night air. The animals fell silent, then caught the tune, as well. The alto note of the owl. The harp strings of the crickets. The tiny patterns of scurrying feet, the flutter of bats and birds. Arthur shivered as the wind picked up, turned nearly cold. The Nemausicae woman looked down to Merlin's form, and without thinking, Arthur reached down and pushed Merlin up, careful of the torch and flask, and pulled Merlin's jacket off. The only reason he hadn't earlier was because he hadn't wanted Gwen (who would worry) or Gwaine (who might not understand) to see.

He pulled away, making sure to keep Merlin's ugly but by now signature jacket away from the torch, and placed Merlin once more fully upon the altar, where he hung like some sort of sacrifice for this so-called deity before him. Yet he couldn't bring himself to pull Merlin away, or pull out his sword, because if he did and he was wrong – or even if he did and he was _right_ – Merlin would remain dead, perhaps forever, or the heat would get worse until it consumed whatever was left of him.

The woman touched Merlin's chest, right over his heart, and the cold of the wind made Arthur fear she might be freezing it or something. But just as he was about to demand what she was doing, the lines on Merlin's arm blazed in a blue fire. Arthur reared back as they flared, the glow sliding from the edges on his chest down the length of his arm, finally cresting at his wrist. The bright light nearly made Arthur blind, but though he squinted until his eyes nearly shut, he didn't look away.

The light from the moon and the stars was obliterated by the raging fire as the song the woman sang – the song the very _earth_ sang – resonated in the air like a shockwave, pulsing with his heartbeat. The lines burned brighter at his chest, then made an otherworldly screaming noise before tracing a path once more, this time leaving nothing behind but smooth, unmarked skin. Arthur took a deep breath and watched as the lines trailed across Merlin's collarbone to his shoulder, then down the long, interminable length to his elbow, then past, until the last vestiges of the curse burned away.

Arthur touched Merlin's forehead, feeling the heat like a brand on his skin. The fire burned away, and the woman lowered her arms and, piece by piece, first the animals and then the wind and the earth, made their silence.

Merlin did not move. The fire did not ebb.

Arthur moved from the woman's side until he was by Merlin's shoulder. He cupped Merlin's cheeks in his hands. "What's wrong? Why isn't he waking?"

"He must know he is safe," she said quietly. "It is not something I can do."

He glared at her. "Why not?"

Her smile was soft. "Because, King. It is not I who brings him such a feeling."

Of course Arthur was conceited enough to consider himself first. But after the last few weeks, Merlin hadn't felt safe with him. He'd felt hemmed in, confined, kept like a prisoner in Camelot. And hadn't he been? Hadn't Arthur made it so?

But Merlin was _so hot_. Trying to get him to his mother, or even back to Gaius, might take too long. _Would_ take too long, if the fire was hurting him the way Arthur thought it was.

He leaned his forehead on Merlin's, ignoring, for the time being, the creature standing like a bio-luminescent fungi beside him. "Merlin," he whispered, as if keeping his voice down could keep what he said private. But what could he say? Merlin was a corpse; it wasn't like he could hear him. And if he could, what apologies might Arthur give? "Merlin. I promise to make it right. Just _wake up_."

Nothing.

He was tempted to grab Merlin up, to race back from the unnatural clearing and put Merlin on the horse and ride until the horse collapsed or died. But the very touch of Merlin's skin against his head was like molten lava, and there could never be enough time. "_Merlin_." He tilted Merlin's head up, twisted his own, and kissed that burning skin, right where those unruly bangs broke form. Nothing. Merlin still didn't wake. Arthur's heart sank. Tears burned his eyes. Yet still, Merlin didn't breathe.

Was it too late? Were his efforts to save Merlin all for nothing? Was he truly going to be lost, to lose Merlin, all because he'd made Merlin lose faith in him? All because he'd failed to think beyond his emotions. He kissed Merlin again, softly, right where those eyes remained closed, those long eyelashes darkening the shadows on that face. His words, when he spoke, whispered across Merlin's blazing skin. "I'm sorry."

The heat burst against his skin. With a gasp, he pulled away. Merlin _glowed_, not with the odd blue color that matched the woman's fungus body, but golden. It flared so brightly, so suddenly, that Arthur not only closed his eyes but threw his hand in front of his face and turned away. His heart pounded in his chest. Was Merlin... combusting?

Gods. Because he'd failed to trust Merlin, Merlin was going to die.

The light dimmed as quickly as it rose, and though Arthur still saw mostly white spots in his vision, still he turned straight back to Merlin. His cheek, when Arthur touched it again, was nearly cool. The burning that had existed for hours, for over a day, was gone. He took a deep, unsteady breath, then another, letting the air get caught in his throat. His vision blurred, and he fought it back with every last ounce of his waning control. "Merlin."

A great, deep sucking of breath, and that thin, pale chest rose. Those long eyelashes fluttered. Some unprincely sound dragged up his throat. His fingers on that high cheekbone trembled. "Merlin?"

Nothing. Then another breath, nearly as deep, and a horrible, wrenching cough. Arthur moved on instinct, helping Merlin onto his side as he doubled over, gasping for air, every line of that thin frame shaking. Arthur nearly collapsed. His knees shook. Merlin. Merlin.

His fingers flew over Merlin's body, from his cheek to his hair and down to his side, still holding him up with one hand on that back, just below the shoulder blades. He gently grabbed Merlin's wrist and twisted it back and forth, back and forth. The black lines were gone.

He looked up to see the woman still there, still watching, her body glowing softly in... the the gray of pre-dawn. She smiled at him. "Congratulations, King. Your Emrys has been returned to you."

He bowed as well as he could with one hand still supporting Merlin. "Thank you."

She bowed, as well. "Take care."

Her words held just enough steel for him to know she spoke of the promise he'd made. He nodded. "I will not forget."

"It is well, then." She looked beyond him. "Though your Emrys is still recovering, I must insist you go. It is not long before men come to taint this land with their weapons and their hate. If life is spilled here, this place will no longer be as it is."

The idea of not having a place like this – a place to save Merlin again if he found he must – made him scoop up the dry-heaving Merlin, sparing a small apology for the way Merlin contorted on himself, and hurry away. The edge of the clearing burst into forest, where it might as well still be the dead of night. He only realized after having returned, Gwen and Gwaine both jumping slightly at his arrival, that he had left the torch and water flask behind.

The was no room for concern now. Even as Gwen clapped her hands and said, "Merlin!" Even as Gwaine cocked both his head and brow and looked from Merlin to Arthur to Merlin again. Even as Merlin sucked in a deep, rasping breath and finally calmed in Arthur's hands, he raced to his sweat-soaked and unhappy horse.

"We need to get going. Now."

It took some doing, and finally Gwaine helped, but Arthur got in the saddle with Merlin before him. He turned a thankful eye on Gwaine. "We need to move. Men are coming to the area, and we have to stop them from reaching this barrier."

He expected questions, perhaps even demands. But Gwen just nodded, ready to take Arthur's words on faith, and Gwaine smiled widely. "Thank goodness!" the man said. "I was getting bored stupid out here waiting for you."

The man was a keeper. "I will reward you for all you've done for me," Arthur said solemnly. It made the man snort. "I swear it. On my honor as prince."

Gwaine actually took a step back, his face contorting slightly. "Prince?"

The man actually sounded displeased about it. Still, Arthur nodded. "Yes. You saved my manservant." He grimaced; Merlin, still breathing unsteadily, seemed to tense. Arthur curled his arms tighter around him. "His life is my own, and now I owe it to you."

The man's face seemed caught between about six different expressions. Arthur didn't give him time to choose one, simply handed over his sword to the man, who took it as if it might bite him. Arthur hoped the man knew how to use it.

His eyes caught on Gwen then. She looked to Merlin, nearly cradled to Arthur's chest, and finally to Arthur. Her eyes were wide, but within those depths he found no sign of betrayal. There was hurt, yet a dawning understanding. When she noticed him looking, she tried on a tiny smile. It wobbled, but still it remained. He wanted to apologize, perhaps for seeming to lead her on, perhaps for having placed that hurt in her heart. But he hadn't the time, and he didn't think what he felt should be apologized for. At least she seemed to understand.

Finally it was time to go, and Arthur turned his horse. Merlin seemed still in Arthur's arms, and it was a state Arthur at the moment could not bear. "Merlin." He hurried the horse forward, straight away from the barrier, or magical shrine, or whatever the thing had been. "I need you to look at me." His horse was a warhorse, trained for battle. When it turned slightly to the right, he let it, knowing the horse would lead him to his enemies. He tapped Merlin's cheek, just a bit, until Merlin turned bleary blue eyes on him. The knot that had been pulling inside his chest finally, finally eased. Arthur grinned hugely. "Welcome back, idiot."

Merlin just looked confused. And tired. "What?"

Arthur didn't even care at the moment that Merlin didn't understand. He just hugged Merlin closer. "Gwaine. Can you take the lead?"

Gwaine didn't hesitate. "Oh, yeah."

Those brows furrowed a little bit more as Merlin struggled to look around and find the source of the unknown voice. Arthur didn't let him lean too far, and finally Merlin gave up. Yet there was still a tension in his body, a tension that reminded Arthur of what they'd been doing just before Merlin had collapsed.

"_Haven't you been saying goodbye for weeks?"_

"Not once," Arthur said, leaning close and murmuring in Merlin's ear, "in all those weeks that I was angry with you, furious with myself, with _us_, not _once,_ _Mer_lin, did I ever say goodbye."

Merlin blinked up at him. Then blinked again. And again. "Yeah?"

"Yes, you idiot." And Arthur couldn't help but lean down and rest his head on Merlin's shoulder, even though the tension in his stallion told him they were nearing the enemy. "And as your prince, I demand you never do this again. What is it with you and nearly dying? This is twice now you've done this to me."

Merlin was silent for a bit. Then, "what did I do?"

Almost, Arthur started yelling. Perhaps the only reason he didn't was because his horse had finally sniffed out the people following him. He pulled the thing up short at the sight of his father's men, but Gwaine had no such inclinations. With a yell, he unsheathed Arthur's sword and ran forward. A few of the knights jumped – he would have to see to their training, he thought, then immediately dismissed the idea. If he couldn't trust the men at his back, then they would not remain there.

And then those knights all drew their swords, every single one, without turning to look at Arthur, and he stiffened at the betrayal. These men had never been his. They had been his father's. And the thought had never occurred to him before, because he'd always thought they were both the same, his men standing for him, his men standing for his father.

Or perhaps they were still his, and his father had turned them from him with his ridiculous idea that Arthur was enchanted. Either way. Gwaine seemed to enjoy the fight a bit more than the one in the tavern. He also wielded the sword like a pro.

Gwen stayed behind the horse, an initiative that Arthur wanted to applaud. Instead he hugged Merlin tight. His stallion, prepped for battle scenarios in which a wounded officer was found on a battlefield, swerved around the fight as it neared them. Gwen scuttled along behind them, fumbling a bit until the dagger Arthur had given her was once more in her hand.

Five knights had come for him, and Gwaine valiantly fought them all off, even as they slowly circled around him – a formation Arthur himself had taught them. He flicked the reins and charged his horse through their line-up, knocking one of them over completely. His men threw scandalized looks at him. Two broke off from their assault on Gwaine.

Gwen, unable to keep up with his horse's sudden gallop, took to the trees, thankfully moving away from the enchanted clearing. Also thankfully, and Arthur was grateful he hadn't recruited his men properly, none of his men gave her the slightest mind.

Gwaine moved like a dancer. It was strange, like watching a bull stand on its tiptoes; all that corded muscle left loose like sheets in a breeze instead of like springs or hot metal. He ducked below one attack and used his upward momentum afterward to thrust his blade up. Arthur's man dodged, but only barely. The man on Gwaine's left, thinking to take advantage of Gwaine's loss of balance, came to attack, but Gwaine used his own momentum again, this time hopping onto one foot and spinning, pulling his sword down to slice diagonally across his man's armor. This time, Verrin did not dodge in time.

"Stop your aggressions against us this instant!" Arthur said, putting every ounce of regality into his tone. Yet while his men all seemed to stiffen slightly, none of them listened. Verrin clutched his chest and struggled to stand up. The amount of blood seeping through his fingers, however, made it clear he was not going to make it.

Arthur knew these men. His stallion snorted, shifted a foot, ready to strike. Yet Arthur pulled back on its reins, even though he knew to battle was necessary. These were his men. He'd trained them for years. Even now, they unconsciously followed his practices – with a mounted target, move slowly, try to reach the rear, go for the front shoulders. Try for the side if the rear assault should fail; focus on killing the horse before taking out the rider.

They still followed his own rules, and he found himself backing his horse away, keeping them from his sides, even at the cost of pulling away from his allies.

But Merlin was a solid weight in his arms, and beneath Arthur's hands, he could feel that chest rising and falling. These men were posing a threat to him If they took out his horse, then Merlin could be crushed beneath the animal's weight. His men knew what they were doing. He'd ordered them to cease, and they had deliberately disobeyed their prince.

He had to fight back.

They stuck together, as he'd taught them to, one slightly behind the other, ready to curb the horse's aggression if it reared – which Arthur's would, on instinct, to keep the men back.

They inched closer. Arthur tensed. Merlin shifted and moaned.

A tree branch fell on top of them.

Arthur sat stock still for a moment. Sudden heat flew from Merlin's skin, a blaze that surged, raged, and died out within the span of a sharp gasp. And in the next, Merlin spasmed, cried out, and went limp.

Arthur's heart slammed into his throat.

Merlin's body shifted on the saddle, and Arthur had to grapple with the dead weight to keep him on the horse. He palmed Merlin's chest, shifting his hand up, over, until finally he could feel Merlin's heart beating beneath his breast. Then he moved his other hand under Merlin's nose – breathing. He nearly collapsed in relief, were it not for the men still fighting Gwaine, one of them looking at their fallen comrades like they'd just seen the start of the apocalypse.

Arthur had seen branches fall precipitously upon enemies before. He'd never considered it magic, but instead a stroke of luck. These men, looking at the fallen branch like one might a venomous snake, did not see it as luck.

They knew. Arthur couldn't believe it. They knew.

There was no way for them to have found out through accident. Merlin hadn't been able to mess up so badly, and they did not react as if they'd already seen it and thought themselves mistaken. They reacted as if it was the first time.

His father. His father had caused this.

Arthur's instinct was to kill the witnesses, and it surprised him. He had not thought he would ever be the type to kill to hide the truth. But he already knew what lies his father had fed his men – that he was enchanted, that Merlin was evil, that Arthur needed to be rescued. And if his men had their way, they would kill Merlin, Uther could exile them for supposed treachery – maybe even execute them – and Arthur would be expected to fall in line like a good little son, no longer tainted by Merlin's magic.

But Merlin had just used his magic to save Arthur from having to kill his own men. Merlin was not evil. Merlin had used just such magic to protect Arthur before. Merlin loved him, whether or not Arthur still felt the same.

Gwaine swerved around Jence. His sword slid through Jence's side as he did. The old veteran fell.

That left only old Kay, and the man's lips thinned as Gwaine turned to him. Kay had joined Arthur when Arthur had grown of age to take over the army. He'd still been young, horribly young and unlearned. But through all of Arthur's many mistakes, mistakes he couldn't undo, Kay had stood by him.

"Kay." The man's head tilted as if he was about to turn to Arthur, but he didn't take his eyes off his foe. "You have known me nearly my entire life. Before my father spoke to you, did anything seem amiss? Have I seemed out of sorts?"

Kay's lips thinned even more.

Arthur hesitated, unwilling to speak of Merlin's magic aloud for fear of alerting Gwen or Gwaine to the knowledge of it. But Gwaine was holding off the battle, merely watching for an attack from Kay, and Arthur had to press the opportunity. "Have I shown a lack of discipline or decorum? Have I shown myself to be fawning over Merlin, or to be incapable to showing anger or disappointment in him, as I couldn't with Vivian?"

Kay's eyes widened further, because what had happened – the enchantment – had been spoken of by no one. Yet Arthur could see in Kay's eyes the agreement that something had been wrong with Arthur, obviously off, and there was that flicker of doubt, lasting long enough to give Arthur hope.

Gwen's brows drew low at the reminder of Vivian. Arthur could see it plain as day, even from where she hid behind a towering oak.

If Arthur hadn't nearly been raised with Kay, he might not have seen the tension in his body as he warred within himself. But he did know him, and he saw it.

"Have I gone about proclaiming anything? Have I spoken openly and brashly about any sort of relationship or engagement with Merlin?" He pulled his horse back as it made to dance closer to the fallen men, its training telling it to trample them before they could recover. "Have I done anything that would make you think I was not of my senses?"

Merlin stirred slightly in Arthur's arms. Arthur squeezed his upper arms, trying to warn him in some way of the conversation he and Kay were having. But Kay was hesitating now, and Arthur said, "or does it seem more like my father is against my choice of lover?"

Kay actually glanced at him then, his eyes wide, and Arthur realized the knowledge of Arthur's sexual escapades had been neglected from Uther's report. It was an advantage. "He didn't tell you, did he? He didn't tell you that I have kept Merlin with me most nights." He wasn't sure, but he thought Merlin's stiffness might also have something to do with how red the backs of his ears suddenly were. "He merely told you what he told me – that Merlin had to have enchanted me, that Merlin _must_ be magic, because if he hadn't, if he wasn't, I never would have shown even a passing interest. Yes?"

Lying. Lying about a sorcerer in his midst, of all things! But while Merlin seemed to tremble slightly in Arthur's arms, it was the only thing he could think of to do.

"You have known me all my life. You have known Merlin since shortly after he became my manservant. If he meant to enchant or harm me, would he not have done it by now? Or has he instead saved my life, drunk poison for me, stayed by me in every endeavor? Has he not shown his loyalty to me, Kay?"

Kay looked to the branch that had fallen, then back to Arthur. He no longer held his sword against Gwaine, but Gwaine didn't let down his guard. Again, Kay's eyes strayed to the branch.

"Has he or has he not?"

Kay's eyes sank from Arthur's glare to Merlin. Arthur couldn't see what Merlin's expression was, but he could guess merely from the downward tilt of his head. Merlin would be avoiding the man's gaze, unwilling to show himself. He was always dorky and bumbling whenever given true praise, and with Arthur, he tried to joke it off. With others, he smiled and blushed. Arthur could tell he was trying to blush, but didn't know whether to be mortified instead.

Arthur saw the instant Kay doubted, truly doubted.

Arthur raised his head. "A man who wanted to hurt me would not protect me – however uselessly." Kay's lips actually twitched. "A man who wanted to control me would not give his life for me."

And finally, Kay dropped his sword.

Gwaine flipped his – Arthur's – sword a couple of times, almost as if playing with it. It was a subtle display of power. A warning. He did not sheathe it. In the end, neither did Kay.

Gwen wasted no more time; she raced out and checked quickly on the men underneath the branch. Though Arthur held no doubt, she looked up at him and nodded. Then she went to Verrin. He had already bled his hands red, and it didn't show signs of stopping until there was nothing left to lose. She did what she could, pushing down, getting her own hands slick with his blood, and took off the scarf holding back her hair to stop the bleeding. Arthur caught Gwaine giving her an appraising stare.

She finally left Verrin, her lips thin enough to tell Arthur to not even bother trying to lift him, or make him comfortable; he would be dead soon. The man was already too weak to moan.

Jence was luckier, or perhaps Gwaine had gone easy on him once Arthur had started trying to reason with his men. In either case, he was bleeding, but not as badly; he'd been smart enough to drop his sword beside him and make himself seem like less of a threat. He didn't attack Gwen as she came near, but he glared up at Kay as if he was betraying him. Kay matched the young knight's gaze. Then he turned, Gwen tending to Jence as best she could, and walked toward Arthur.

Arthur held up his hand. "Stop."

Kay did, recognizing Arthur's command. He looked at Merlin, his head still down, still slightly heaving for breath. He stayed away. When he looked back to Arthur, there was something odd in his gaze. Something nearly dark. "If you were to protect a sorcerer, then you would be protecting a criminal, my prince."

Arthur straightened to his full stature and bore it down on Kay as if he were no more than a rat. "If I were to betray those loyal to me, Lord Kay, then I would dishonor the title you give me."

Merlin's head lifted, just a bit, and he turned. It was just enough for Arthur to see that bright, wide-eyed look, the one where he nearly seemed to smile, nearly to burst into a hug – or a kiss. It was the one that said Merlin couldn't be prouder of him. A look of total and complete faith.

For once, someone else saw it. And when he did, Kay finally sheathed his sword. He bowed down to one knee. "I have dishonored my own title as knight, and turned my blade on you." He bowed his head. Arthur saw Gwaine roll his eyes and grimace. Gwen turned her own gaze on them for the first time, Jence's wound wrapped with a part of Gwen's dress, the man's gaze turned to the side, his head bowed. Arthur caught a brief glimpse of Gwen's legs as she shifted where she knelt. She was stunningly beautiful. Even now, he could recognize it. But he belonged exactly where he was.

"Stand, Kay. I understand you were attempting to protect me." His voice, however, brooked no mercy. "However, in not trusting me, you have given me reason to not trust you."

Merlin stiffened all over again. Arthur squeezed him close, just for an instant. The last thing he wanted was Merlin feeling Arthur was rejecting him. Merlin was not allowed to try to leave.

Kay didn't so much as flinch. Arthur also understood that Kay had been following Uther's order, and if Arthur came back with Merlin unharmed – or relatively unharmed – Kay would be the one facing the repercussions. Kay certainly knew it, as well, yet he remained where he was.

Merlin reached up and touched Arthur's wrist. Just once, just one tiny movement. It was enough. Arthur sighed. "I will not ask you to lie to my father. Your king. But I will ask that you find a way to remain in my service, and to do so without risking anyone's life. That includes your own." He looked down on Kay's graying mane of dark hair. "You will also report to practice early, and you will take over Merlin's jobs." Merlin made a disgruntled noise, but Arthur shushed him with one hand over Merlin's chest. "I have less trust for you now than those of Merlin's employ. Earn your way back up." He turned. "That goes for you as well, Jence."

The young man grimaced. Paused. Shifted. And finally nodded.

"Sire." Arthur turned back to Kay. The man's dark eyes studied him. "I was told as you suspected. Merlin was a sorcerer. You were bewitched. I was to separate the two of you, keep him where he could not return."

Arthur's heart beat double-time in his chest. His father had sworn to not harm Merlin. He had known his father would try to find a way around the oath. He'd hoped he wouldn't. He'd hoped his father might come to understand.

But how could he? All he'd seen since they'd found out about Merlin's magic was Arthur fighting with Merlin. How could their obvious antagonism be love?

But then, Uther never would have accepted that word from Arthur. Not for his manservant. One would be bad enough – a man, or a servant. But a man who was his servant? Absolutely not. They would have been lucky if it had merely ended with Merlin's banishment. Merlin could still have faced the execution stand, looked down the edge of the chopping block, simple because Arthur might have used that word.

Kay bowed. "My apologies. I did not realize..." The words weren't what Arthur had expected, and his eyebrows rose despite himself. Kay caught the look and chanced a small smile. "You have always had your eye on the ladies, my lord, but you have always had the other on the men."

Arthur couldn't believe he nearly blushed. He tamped the urge down with e+verything he had. Gwaine, however, saw fit to chuckle. The man was lucky he wasn't yet knighted, or Arthur would have had him on the practice field for hours for that one. Of course, somehow it was perfectly all right, even comforting, to hear the exact same chuckle fly from Merlin's mouth. Though at least Merlin tried to stifle it. A little.

Kay fell somber again. "While it was under the king's orders, we still attempted to kill your... companion," he said, obviously straining to find a politic word for lover without insinuating any coarseness. It was a smart move, but the word did not sit right with him.

"Consort," he said. Kay bowed deeper.

"Consort," Kay amended, and Arthur accepted it with a nod. Arthur had kept his relationship with Merlin quiet. He hadn't needed to say a word about discretion to Merlin – while Merlin could yammer on and on like an old ninny at times, when it came to anything that could harm Arthur or his reputation, Merlin was mum. But now, Arthur gave it a week before the entire kingdom knew. While Kay, like Leon, could be the soul of discretion, Jence could not.

He found he wanted it to be that way. He wanted everyone to know, so that Merlin would be recognized wherever he ran off to. So that, if anything happened to Merlin, people would understand, at least in some small way, Arthur's unceasing panic.

Arthur saw Gwen's face, and there was that hurt again. He hadn't told her, either, and had just left her believing that he was courting her as well he could under his father's nose. He had to explain that he still cared for her, still saw her as his queen, if it was possible. If Merlin would allow it. If she would allow it. If his people would allow it.

He would deal with it. For now, Merlin was still alive and by his side. He could work from there. "What will you do?" Arthur asked.

Kay made a small face. "If you'll allow me, sire, I would like to say the truth. We were defeated."

Arthur smirked. "That will work."

Kay bowed, and Arthur waved Gwaine forward. "I cannot take you back with me," he said, looking to Jence. "It will destroy your chance of returning for the king to see us as allies." Jence nodded, still not quite looking convinced. Arthur made a mental note not to allow Jence anywhere near himself or Merlin until he stopped looking like he thought he might gut Merlin just to be sure. "If you need, Gwen can stay with you. She can leave your group just before you reach Camelot, and no one would be the wiser." If she stayed with them, Uther would wonder how they met up. Which could lead to him finding out she went with them. Which could place her in danger of exile.

She didn't argue. Didn't protest. But he could see the desire to speak with him in the way her body pressed toward him. He tried to convey the same desire to her.

"That would be good," Kay said, looking over to Verrin. The man had stopped twitching. He'd also stopped holding his wound. And he'd stopped bleeding. Arthur had not gone to him in his final hour. He hadn't even gotten off his horse. He felt shame, slightly, but it was the way of battle. To get down would be to introduce weakness, to make Merlin and himself vulnerable. And he couldn't yet trust that they were safe.

He hadn't been able to trust that from the moment he and his father had learned of Merlin's – he couldn't believe the word treachery filled his mind, but it did, for an instant, before the absurdity of it broke the word down to the bitterness it was – Merlin's magic. He'd just been blinded by his own feelings of betrayal to see Merlin was still very much in danger.

He should have. He should have seen just what his father had been planning.

He needed to get going. He had several things to think about, and unbelievably, the very first thing he wanted to do was pull Merlin down and _talk_ to him. No more accusations, no more yelling. To gain the information he should have been seeking from the start. He was a commander, for goodness' sake! He should have been getting a layout of the land (Uther's reactions), knowledge on his men and their fighting abilities (Merlin and just what he could do, what he _had_ done). He'd already chosen Merlin as his manservant – well, after he'd had Merlin forced on him, he'd chosen him, because no one else would do. He'd essentially been knighted as Arthur's right hand man, there whenever Arthur went anywhere. He'd trusted Merlin at his side long enough to know he wouldn't stab him in the back. (Even though he had.)

His mind whirled back and forth, and finally he shut it all down. _This_ was why he needed to speak with Merlin. To get all the information he could. To _listen_. Even if Merlin wasn't an atrocious liar, he could still pick up on it. (Unless Merlin made him unable to.) But he trusted Merlin. He did. It was why he had demanded Merlin stay by his side from the very beginning.

He turned his horse around, casting a final look to Gwen to try to signal his apologies for having to leave her questions unanswered. She seemed to get it, though her lips firmed in a way that told him he was going to be hearing another, less impromptu, lecture. But at least she truly didn't seem to feel betrayed.

He was going to have to sort out his feelings on her, on the idea of having a queen and a consort, something he'd never understood when he was younger. He'd thought a consort would be a betrayal to the queen. And perhaps it was, for other kings, the ones who didn't care what their wives thought. But now he could see it – having to marry someone for his kingdom, yet loving another. He'd never accepted that he would ever do such a thing. He wouldn't betray his wife, but he couldn't bear to marry someone he didn't love.

He could be happy with Gwen. He didn't doubt it. But he loved Merlin more.

It was something that needed to be spoken of, between the three of them. Or perhaps, it was something he needed to speak with Merlin about first.

No. He rejected that immediately, before Gwaine could manage more than one step toward him, sword in front of him in a sign that he wanted to hand it over and be off. Letting Merlin decide would be a monumental mistake. The fool would simply leave off, saying Arthur should marry Gwen, that she would make a fantastic wife, and that their time together had been limited, anyway. And Arthur just might have to put him in the stocks for it.

The reaction shocked him long enough for Gwaine to reach his side and hold up his sword. Arthur took it numbly, still reeling from the knowledge that he still _knew_ Merlin, intrinsically, like he'd lived with the fool all his life. Even with The Secret. He knew exactly how Merlin would respond.

He _knew_ him.

Something deep within him unclenched.

"Will you come with me?" he asked, and Gwaine's eyebrows shot up. They got lost somewhere beneath his curly hair.

"You want me to?" Though the man didn't seem quite as annoyed by Arthur's title. He glanced back toward Kay and Gwen, both of whom were helping Jence to his feet. "Well, I guess that makes sense. Don't really have many people to watch your back, do you, princess?"

Arthur grimaced. He'd already guessed the man had no sense of propriety whatsoever. For some reason, though, it was comforting. This man wasn't likely to bullshit Arthur. "Exactly," he said, and watched Gwaine's gaze turn assessing. "I need men I can trust. And I already told you I would reward you."

Gwaine wrinkled his nose. "I do not want to have to dress up in that horrible outfit."

Arthur smirked. "The cape would suit you." The smirked died. "However, my father does not allow those without noble titles to join the knights. I would not be able to grant you such status."

The man actually looked relieved. It wasn't quite was Arthur was expecting, but he found he wasn't all that surprised, either. "Well, I guess I could go and check out the taverns in Camelot. They've got to be better than the last one."

Almost, Arthur made a quip about Merlin enjoying them well enough, but found himself hesitating, remembering the 'discussion' he'd had with Merlin about his supposed tavern-hopping. Finally he settled on, "good. I may need you again. But since you're not a knight, you need not accompany me anywhere."

Gwaine tilted his head, looked at Arthur, then Merlin, then back to Arthur. "I think I should stick around. See how things play out. Might get interesting again, yeah?"

Arthur was grateful. He placed his sword in the sheathe on his horse's side and started his exhausted hose onward, patting it absently with one hand. Merlin was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. And with so much silence from Merlin, from Merlin's corpse, he found he needed to hear Merlin's babble. "We will talk later," Arthur said, a murmur in Merlin's ear, his voice firm. "Or, I suppose, this time, you will talk. And I promise to listen. Without judgment, Merlin."

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath. Arthur could feel, under his fingertips, a trembling that spoke of a cord inside Merlin snapping. Arthur had much to answer for.

But Merlin seemed to understand everything Arthur wasn't saying, because he finally patted Arthur's hand slightly and turned to Gwaine. "Who are you?" he asked. And Gwaine, apparently a lover of attention, proceeded to tell a long, winding tale on just what kind of adventuring drunken philanderer he truly was.

* * *

He should have known Merlin would hit it off with Gwaine. Merlin hit it off with _everyone_. In no time at all, Gwaine had told far too many stories on having gotten into a bar brawl or chased out of a woman's home, and he had Merlin laughing so hard he was holding his sides. Gwaine's grin – Merlin's grin, what he could see of it as he traveled behind Merlin, holding him up on the saddle as he slumped in exhaustion far more often than Arthur felt comfortable with, was infectious, however, and the relief of hearing Merlin's laughter again after so long – after holding a dead Merlin in his arms – uncurled a tension in him thicker than he'd been prepared for. It made him sleepy.

The dawn had come and gone, and Arthur was working on possibly his third day without rest. He wasn't certain of the length of time; all he knew was that he was tired, that his mission was over. Around evening, when the sky above the treetops started slipping into orange, he called a break and got down from behind Merlin. It was the first time he'd been away from Merlin since he'd awoken, and the absence of Merlin's warmth made him uneasy. He turned to help Merlin down, only to find the idiot trying to get down on his own. Arthur made an angry noise. His horse tittered, tired but ready to throw Merlin off – for some reason, his horse had never liked Merlin, and now he wondered if it had anything to do with Merlin's magic. Merlin's mare was docile enough, but she'd also never been trained for battle.

He reached up just as Merlin slipped, nearly tumbling to the ground. Arthur barely managed to catch those flailing limbs. Merlin, still struggling as if Arthur hadn't already snatched him, managed to get one good thwack against Arthur's shoulder before finally settling. "_Mer_lin," Arthur growled, and Merlin actually looked up at him with a sheepish grin. Arthur's breath caught in his throat.

"Sorry?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, sighed, just as he always had before. But when normally he would have let Merlin go, he held stubbornly on, his gaze still categorizing signs of life – each little breath, each blink of eyelashes, each tilt of his head as he tried to see around Arthur, each word Merlin threw at Gwaine, already trading jokes as if they'd been friends for years. He couldn't believe he could actually be jealous about their easy camaraderie simply because he and Merlin hadn't started out on the best footing.

He set Merlin down against the base of a thick tree and turned back to his horse. He heard a hurried scrabbling that could only be Merlin – or perhaps a giant, bumbling squirrel – and turned with a frown. Merlin was holding tight to the tree behind his back as he wobbled ungainly to his feet. The clearing Arthur had made them stop at was little more than a dead spot, with grass growing sparsely as if a recent brushfire had cleared the area, and things were only just starting to grow back. Well, it could be magic, or just some spot without enough water to sustain life. Arthur might have speculated on it if he hadn't been ready to tie Merlin the hell down. He glared as Merlin locked his knees. "_Mer_lin. Sit down."

"But..." Merlin's gaze went to the horse, the blankets, Arthur's sword, the food and other few provisions they'd had time to grab from Gaius before setting off. Speaking of, Arthur remembered the few vials Gaius had given him, and he pointed as imperiously as possible at the ground. Normally, Merlin would huff and sulk down, rolling his eyes. But now, Merlin simply collapsed against the tree and slid down, his body giving out, his eyes saying he was going wild inside.

"Gwaine," he said, cutting into the man's monologue on a fiery redhead who just happened to have three very large, very overprotective brothers, and waved toward the forest. "Could you gather firewood? I'll set up camp."

Gwaine gave him a quick look up and down, then grinned. "Don't hurt yourself, princess."

He glared at the man, who was apparently impervious to Arthur's glares, until he left. Arthur grabbed the few blankets and spread them out around the thin center, deliberately setting Gwaine and one side and the other two blankets together on the other. Merlin made a strangled sound in his throat. Arthur ignored it for the moment, returning to his horse to get the food and his sword.

Then he sat down before Merlin, his sword by his side, ready to grab if more of his knights, or bandits, or a rogue monster (anything and everything seemed to happen to him) jumped out at them. "Merlin. What do you remember?"

Merlin's eyes shone with obvious relief. Arthur wondered, not for the first time, just how Merlin had managed to keep anything from him. "I fought..." He looked up for a moment, hesitated, then charged through. "I fought Liam. My arm..." He clutched it suddenly, as if on reflex, then frowned and looked at it. Arthur had also left Merlin's jacket behind. He didn't care. Merlin would get a new one. A better one. And it seemed right to leave something at the altar in payment. Merlin's jacket was hardly payment enough for what she'd done for him, but for now, until he was king, it would have to do.

After, when he took the throne, he would send gifts worthy of a goddess. Whatever those gifts may be.

Merlin didn't seem to notice anything amiss, per se; not immediately. If Gaius had been correct, then Gaius hadn't seen the mark, and Merlin might not have, either. But after a moment, Merlin seemed to realize something was up, and his brows furrowed. That cute moue-like frown twisted those lips. Arthur wanted to kiss him. He wanted to hold him close, feel Merlin's heartbeat the way he'd been able to feel it as they'd traveled through the day. It wasn't the first time during the weeks since the revelation that he'd wanted to do so, but it was the first time the lies didn't create a wall between them. A wall that Arthur alone had created.

Arthur motioned for Merlin to continue, because they hadn't spoken about their problems, and Merlin might not be willing to kiss him back. And he wanted to be sure Merlin wanted him still. Even if Merlin still loved him, even if such a thing had somehow survived between them, that didn't mean they were ready. "I was injured?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes. We got you healed."

Merlin opened his mouth to ask what looked to be a million questions, and with another surge of relief, Arthur found he knew what they would be. How? Who's 'we'? Why? Arthur didn't want to hear the last one, and he glared until Merlin closed his mouth and said, "I went to Gaius while you went to arrest Forest." And here Merlin looked him up and down, not quite surreptitiously. It made his heart clench, and there was a mix of pain and pleasure so profound it nearly made his breath hitch. Merlin didn't want him hurt. Arthur had ignored signs like this for weeks. "Then I went to your room." He frowned severely and dropped his gaze to the ground between them. "We fought. I... was injured." He squeezed his arm tighter, like Arthur had seen him do just before he'd collapsed. It made adrenaline course inside him despite the fact that he could see with his own eyes that the curse was gone, that Merlin didn't wince, that it was merely the phantom memory making his do it. "You... started doing something. Asked me about it. Then nothing." Merlin looked up at him, that moue back. He didn't ask. He didn't have to.

"You used your magic," Arthur said. His voice was like a hiss, and Merlin flinched. "That's not what I meant!" Actually, Arthur didn't know what he'd meant by saying it wasn't what he meant. "But to make yourself, by all intents and purposes, dead! Of all the brainless things to do, _Mer_lin!"

But instead of giving Merlin some sort of relief, he actually shrunk into himself more, a guilty look streaming across his face. Arthur didn't even understand why. Perhaps it was his confusion that kept him from getting angry. Perhaps it was his own revelations he'd received on the trip. But Merlin curled his shoulders in the way he did whenever he thought he'd done something wrong. Arthur scowled. "What?"

Merlin looked up from beneath his bangs. It was another look that Arthur couldn't help but label cute, even though he knew damn well it was nearly an insult to a man. It wasn't his fault Merlin was such a girl. "I didn't?" Merlin said, as if it was a question.

"Yes, _Mer_lin. You did." Unless the curse somehow did it, sparing Merlin's life. Which seemed counterproductive to trying to kill someone.

But Merlin dared to shake his head. "I didn't," he said, more firmly, then ruined it with a soft, "or, I didn't mean to."

Danger! Arthur's mind screamed. Didn't mean to?

"It wasn't – I mean, sometimes it just happens. Like then. Or..." But Merlin's voice shriveled at the look Arthur gave him.

"'Sometimes it just happens'? Merlin, are you crazy? You have so little control over your magic that it, what? Starts fires if you wake up angry?"

"No!" Merlin said, flying up his hands as if Arthur had pulled his sword on him. "Never. It never happens like that. But sometimes I'll see someone..." His voice trailed off again, but he continued, words nearly chained together they fell out so fast, at the warning look in Arthur's eyes. "Sometimes I'll see someone in trouble, like Gaius, when I first met him, he fell from the rafters above his room, you know? And it sort of surged out, and I moved the bed to beneath him, and sometimes it happens too with you when... but most of the time it doesn't, I'm usually in control. It only did this once before, when I was trapp..." His voice petered out again, but Arthur was able to piece it together rather quickly. They never really spoke on their so-called 'adventures', but Merlin would only falter like that for one specific time he'd been trapped – when Uther encased him behind a wall of stone.

Merlin had said he hadn't tried to get out. He'd said he'd _accepted his death_, as if Merlin's death was even remotely _acceptable_. But now Merlin was saying that he nearly did fight back – not him, but his magic. And when he'd been cursed, his magic had once again risen without his volition to defend him.

Arthur found himself greatly liking Merlin's magic in that instant. It felt strange, alien, to accept such a thing. But he did. It was as much Merlin as Merlin was, he thought, if it acted without thought for the welfare of others. And if it acted without thought for the welfare of Merlin, all the better. The fool had not one lick of self-preservation within him. If his magic acted as that preserver, then, for that one thing, if nothing else, Arthur would be grateful to it.

He finally sighed and scooted around until he was beside Merlin, leaning against the tree, as well, his sword in his lap. "I need to apologize." The words made Merlin blink at him. His jaw dropped slightly open. Again, the need to kiss him ran through Arthur's body. It was just a reaction to bringing Merlin back from the edge of death. To nearly losing him. He was not going to jump in without thinking it through. "I need to know more about your magic. About you."

Merlin's jaw snapped shut. "You know me," he said, then froze. It was something he'd said before, countless times, and Arthur had railed against it, getting angrier and angrier about it. But now he nodded.

"I know parts of you. But not all of you."

Merlin's eyes nearly popped out of their skull. That jaw dropped just wide enough to no longer look like an invitation, thank goodness. For the first time in a long, long time, Merlin's eyes shone up at him. There wasn't just praise there, but hope now, as well. He couldn't help it. He reached over and cupped Merlin's cheek, glad they were alone enough for this. "You've used your magic to help me," he said, thinking of the branch that had fallen on two of his knights.

"Of course," Merlin said quickly, no pause, no hesitation. Yet he spoke almost as if he thought he would be ordered silent at a moment's notice. Because he had been, several times. Arthur winced at the memories. "It's yours, Arthur. It's all yours."

And again, there was that faith. That belief. The same look that said Merlin would follow him into hell told him he would sell his own abilities to Arthur without charge or question. And it was a heady, terrifying thing to realize, that not only was Merlin handing over his magic, but also his life. Merlin had said he'd been born with magic, that it was a part of him. And without thought to the consequences, even when Arthur had treated Merlin like he was a criminal, an enemy, still Merlin handed over that part of himself like it was nothing. _I give it freely_. Just like he'd given his life to Arthur. He was, in essence, saying he was Arthur's to use as Arthur saw fit.

Freely.

Arthur shuddered. He imagined sending Merlin out in battle, using whatever magic he may possess to destroy enemies. He imagined sending Merlin out to assassinate his enemies. Manipulating his foes the way someone had toyed with his and Vivian's feelings. Killing. Torturing. Maiming. And then he imagined using Merling himself, stringing him up and torturing _him_, until there was nothing of the Merlin he knew left. He imagined putting his sword to Merlin's throat. _"It would be for you to decide, Arthur."_

He shuddered again.

"Why did you use it there?" he asked. "Did you think I couldn't defeat them?"

He already knew why. He did. But still it was such a relief to see Merlin respond with a wild flail that dislodged Arthur's hand and a yelped, "of course you could! It's just... would you want to?"

Arthur dropped his arm back to his side. "No. I didn't."

There was an instant of relief in that gaze before Merlin settled back once more against the tree. "All right, then." But there was still a deep tension in him. Gwaine returned from the forest then, a bundle of firewood in his hands. Arthur got up as he dumped them at the edge of the mini-clearing. Gwaine went to grab another armful, and Arthur took a patch of wood to the center. Merlin was silent as Arthur worked, though he heard an aborted movement, as if Merlin had been about to get up to do the work himself. Arthur pointed to the ground without looking behind him, and Merlin did as silently ordered. This time, however, Arthur did get the huff. It made something warm curl inside him.

The fire, when he lit it, burned his face. That last moment on the altar came back to him, and he found he had to turn to look at Merlin. The idiot of a manservant was watching him with wide eyes, the fire burning in them, turning them ocher. A small, private smile, nearly sad, pulled his lips up.

For the first time in a long, long time, Arthur smiled back.

* * *

Thank everything he'd thought to put Merlin with him that night. Though Merlin had put up a fuss, his gaze moving to Gwaine more than once as if ashamed to lie down with Arthur with someone else near, he'd finally acquiesced. If Arthur had asked for Merlin to strip and dance nude around the campfire, he got the feeling he would have done it, so desperate had he seemed to please Arthur in some way. It was something Arthur had only seen rarely, once or twice, and he didn't like it.

But the victory had been worth it, because every time he'd woken, sweating in a mix of panic and remembered heat, barely returning from that place where Merlin hadn't woken up, he'd felt Merlin, his body a reasonable temperature, his breathing steady, his brows slightly pulled down as he rested. More than once, he'd traced that line until it disappeared. When it finally eased, Arthur was rewarded with a sigh, a soft snuffle as Merlin snuggled closer to him, a slight tilt to those lips. More than once, he'd put an arm around Merlin and held him as he had on the horse, his hand over Merlin's chest, feeling his heartbeat steady against Arthur's fingertips.

Only then had he been able to go back to sleep.

* * *

At some point the next day, sometime between getting the camp packed up and stopping for lunch, they got onto the topic of their journey. It started innocently enough, Arthur telling how he'd gone to leave and Gwen joining him at the last minute. But then they had to backtrack, as Arthur had to explain to Gwaine just what had happened to Merlin. He'd chosen to skip over Merlin's own magic and just said that Merlin had been hit by a curse and had been close to death. It made Gwaine give Merlin a look, as if taking in Merlin's bouts of weakness for the first time.

Then they'd had to stop once more, as Merlin looked at Gwaine in a completely different light the moment his entrance to the story came. "Thank you," he said, his voice deep and serious in a way it only got when he was imparting those rare moments of wisdom to Arthur. Gwaine assessed Merlin all over again before finally grinning and saying, "hey, any time. As long as it's fun."

It had made Merlin laugh, and it was the only reason Arthur wasn't ridiculously jealous of Gwaine seeing that wise Merlin, who had previously been Arthur's alone. That and the knowledge that Merlin was thanking Gwaine for saving his life, for protecting Arthur when he'd been unable to. And it made him think of how Merlin would demand that he went with Arthur everywhere. He understood. Merlin had said before that it was his job – fate, he'd called it, though Arthur didn't believe in such drivel – to protect him.

Almost, he found himself bitter enough to ask if Merlin sleeping with him had been 'fate,' as well, but he didn't, because that one, solemn thank you said Merlin wanted Arthur alive. Not for fate, but for himself. It took over two passes of the sun for Merlin to let go of his death grip on Arthur's hand over his chest, after all.

Then came the story of the woods, the woman, the creature Arthur had met, and Merlin gasped at the description of her. Gwaine asked if he'd met a ghost, but Merlin kept sending Arthur wide-eyed glances that made him worry about her. That had been when Arthur had ordered their stop for lunch, and after getting everything settled and putting bread, cheese and fruit in Merlin's hands and ordering him to finish it all, he leaned in and asked, "do you know anything about that woman?"

Merlin paused with the bread halfway to his mouth. It annoyed Arthur to see his efforts to get Merlin to eat were foiled, but he wanted to know. "I don't know for sure," he said, his voice hushed slightly as if afraid of being heard, and he leaned in closer, "but I think you met a druid goddess. You said she called herself Nemausica?" Arthur nodded. "She might be a healer, but I remember her as a fertility goddess. Gaius made me remember most of them. He said they might pose a problem for me, because of my..." He paled. "You didn't make a deal with her for–"

Arthur remembered what the goddess had offered and said a quick, sharp, "no."

Merlin looked so relieved he just might faint. Arthur looked meaningfully at the food in Merlin's lap until he huffed and stuffed a piece of the bread into his mouth. "You're the one asking me questions."

Arthur glared a little, but he got up, happily noting Merlin's soft frown at his leaving. He crossed the clearing to a tree nearly opposite Merlin and sat by Gwaine. The man was munching far too enthusiastically on his cheese, and he gave Arthur a slightly disgusting grin as he sat. "Pulled yourself away from him finally, did you?"

It was in Arthur to blush, but he didn't. "I would like your opinion on all that happened."

Gwaine's eyebrows shot up. "Me? I'm just a peasant, princess. It's not my place to have an opinion."

Arthur frowned. "That's ridiculous. I asked your opinion. I wouldn't have done so if I didn't want it."

That gaze was strong, like an opponent sizing him up on the field of battle. Arthur sat tall through it, and finally Gwaine's face contorted into something akin to acceptance. "You're not like most nobles, princess." He looked over to Merlin, nodded in his direction. Arthur looked to find Merlin looking between the cheese and apple as if trying to decide which would be less difficult to deal with. He chose the cheese. "The guy's weak from this curse thing – good on you not mentioning it, by the way. I think if you even sneezed something that sounded like magic, those guys would have dragged Merlin off despite you."

Arthur thought the same. "Yes. He's going to need time to recover."

"That's enough of a problem, but if I'm reading his body right – the lack of muscles, the knobby elbows and knees – what's that like in bed, by the way?" he asked, and put his hand, still holding the rest of his own apple, up in a sign of peace when Arthur outright glowered at him. "Sorry, sorry. But you know what's going to happen, right? One of those knights of yours is going to let something slip. Just the tiniest sniff of a rumor, and even if it weren't, it would become fact. But he'd not a prince. He goes outside the castle sometimes, yeah? Goes to the market, or on errands, or even leaves the city, right? He's a walking target from now on."

Arthur's heart tripped over itself as the knowledge crashed down on him. Gwaine was right; with the knowledge of Merlin as his lover – _consort_, he'd demanded – every two-bit thief, glutton, sorcerer, assassin, would be after Merlin. If not to kill him, then to kidnap him. Everyone would be after him, not just Arthur's father. Magic aside, what could Merlin do? It had already been shown to him that Merlin was fallible. One good curse and Merlin could die. Curses weren't even necessary. If Arthur's life was threatened, Merlin would drink poison all over again for him.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw Merlin's future: danger from every corner, trapped to perform as Arthur's manservant or risk even more exposure, or perhaps being sacked by Arthur's father in a fit of vindictive opportunity, getting rid of Merlin from Arthur's side because Merlin wasn't performing his duties.

And if he did? If Merlin continued with his duties, grabbed Arthur's water from the pump, fetched Arthur's purchases from the local merchants, mucked out the stables? If he went on hunts for Gaius' herbs? Arthur wouldn't be allowed to send out knights to watch out for Merlin. Uther would laugh at the very prospect. Which left Arthur with only one option. "I would need you to look after him."

Gwaine nodded, having apparently come to the same conclusion. "Definitely not a hard job," he said, and Arthur couldn't quite decide if the grin this time was fond or lascivious. He gave the man a warning glare just in case. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, highness. It's obvious he's goo-goo for you. He's hardly looked away from you all day. It's enough to make a man feel left out."

"You are left out," Arthur said, and Gwaine cackled a deep laugh.

"A joke!" Gwaine laughed harder. "And a dirty one!"

That got Merlin's attention, and one brow arched slowly upward. It was an interesting impression of Gaius that left Arthur smirking.

Arthur received another, fuller smile from Merlin, and thought that he just might be making some progress.

* * *

The forest seemed so much different on the way back than it had forward, with Merlin's body burning hotter and hotter with each passing of the moon and sun. They took their time going back, knowing it would take Kay and his group even longer, as they waited for the other two knights to awaken before burying Verrin and helping Jence back to wherever it was they'd needed to hide their horses. Arthur wondered how long his men had been following his tracks and wished he'd had the time to hide them. But Merlin had been dying, and taking time to hide his tracks would most likely have made him too late.

Arthur sent Gwaine off to get firewood every night, to the point where Gwaine kept smiling deviously and dropping hints – threats, more like – that they should be careful or risk a third wheel. But they didn't do more then hold hands, touch knees, and, once, put their foreheads together and just breathe. Arthur instigated each one. Merlin had always let Arthur take the lead, but if Arthur had shown a need for touch when in his room, Merlin hadn't been adverse to giving it. Now he hesitated, his hand always hovering over Arthur like he might swat it away. Every time, Arthur would grab it and pull it forward, and Merlin would gust out a short sigh as if freed from some sort of cage. And they _talked_. Not about the big, important Knowledge of Magic that Arthur still needed, but didn't want interrupted. But about _them_. About Merlin, and Arthur. They relived the moment Arthur had ordered Merlin into his bed, the first touches, their thoughts. Arthur admitted to being horrified by what he was doing, pulling his manservant in for a nightly tryst when the man had no way of telling him no – that the only solace he'd had was that Merlin had never hesitated to say no before, despite that little law.

Merlin, on the other hand, admitted to being torn, terrified, desperate. Though the admission came in the most beautifully halting way Arthur could imagine, though it came with downward glances and the acidic drip of shame on every note, he heard Merlin tell him how much Merlin had wanted it, how much Merlin had warred with himself in those few moments when Arthur had seen nothing but a dumbstruck look on his idiot manservant's face. Merlin had thought about telling him, right then and there. Arthur joked that it would have ruined the mood, and the words actually brought a strangled laugh from Merlin's throat, like he couldn't believe Arthur was actually joking in any way about Merlin's magic. But Arthur thought he could joke about anything, so long as Merlin laughed enough to assure Arthur he wasn't going to collapse again.

But then Merlin went more in-depth. He spoke of fearing what he might be doing to Gwen – something Arthur had worried about himself, and finally dismissed because Merlin had almost died – a habit of his, Arthur thought. Then he admitted to worrying about Arthur's destiny, whatever the hell that meant. He'd sworn to himself that he would let Arthur go the moment he needed to – he swore it again, to Arthur, and Arthur had ordered him to shut up without thinking, and Merlin had flinched slightly – and he admitted to fearing how Arthur would react when Merlin told him – and how often Merlin wondered, 'should I now? Should I now?' and never doing it, because Uther was alive, and Arthur loved Uther, and Merlin was afraid of losing what he had – a horribly accurate fear that shamed Arthur.

And then Merlin admitted to having to fight tooth and nail to control his magic when they'd actually had sex, because he could feel it wanting to come out, to wrap around them, and he didn't know what it would do or if Arthur would notice. Arthur had stopped him then, saying, "you think it would hurt me?" and Merlin nearly shouting, "no!" loud enough to make Gwaine snap up an eyebrow as he returned to camp from his bathroom break, then continue, "it didn't feel anything like that, but more like... like it wanted to become one the way our bodies became one, and..." And Merlin had blushed too furiously to be able to continue, and Arthur was so ridiculously curious he worried momentarily if he was developing a kink.

They talked about when they first met, and how Merlin had thought Arthur the biggest prat he could ever imagine, and Arthur thought Merlin the biggest fool – audacious fool, but more obnoxious than he was worth, even for the benefit of hilarity. He chuckled as Merlin glared at him then.

And then Merlin told him how he'd been told about his fate being to protect Arthur (though he neglected to say by whom, and Arthur could only guess Gaius, and wondered why the old man had said it, or how he'd known of any such prophecy), and how he'd told the person that they had to be wrong, because Arthur was a prat. Arthur had thwacked Merlin lightly in the back of the head for that one, garnering a huge grin from Merlin as if Arthur really had kissed him. Inwardly, however, he was inordinately pleased, as that new fear died before it could really start to fester. Merlin really had chosen to protect Arthur of his own free will. He'd seen something more to Arthur over time, something worth protecting. Something he hadn't seen before.

And then Merlin told Arthur, in deep, conspiratorial tones, and with many pauses as he waited for reprimands, arguments, anger, accusations, all of which Arthur never spoke, not once, as he spoke about that night in the dining hall, and how Merlin had saved his life.

He'd dropped the chandelier on the woman as she encased them in slumber. He's slowed time itself to give him the chance to reach Arthur's side and pull him from his chair.

That very evening, just days after Merlin had arrived in Camelot, Merlin had used magic, in front of all and sundry, in order to save Arthur's life.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious. He wanted, at an almost primal level, to hate Merlin's magic like he'd hated magic all his life, from the first time he could recall, back when he was still learning all the sounds the human mouth could make, that magic was evil, that sorcerers were evil, that every sorcerer in Camelot needed to be purged from the kingdom. But he couldn't. All he could feel was a deep, overwhelming swell of gratitude, and another, even deeper swell of love.

It was the night before they would reach Camelot, deep into the moon's passage, Gwaine snoring on the other side of the fire, that Arthur pulled Merlin in, softly, slowly, giving him more than enough time to resist, and finally, finally kissed him.

And Merlin, loyal, foolish sorcerer Merlin, kissed him back.


End file.
